Consider Yourself Adopted
by mintos013
Summary: Charlie is adopted into a crime syndicate that requires his skills. Canon pairings. Don and Charlie centric. Warnings for language, violence, and death.
1. Margo

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Numb3rs.

* * *

UFO

Creepy

Ratio

Underfoot

Parasite

**Consider Yourself Adopted 1/10**

* * *

_Today is the day all of you will burn_.

Slipping out of her seat, the young woman padded down the carpeted stairs that cut through the center of the small auditorium-style classroom's rows of tables and attached swivel chairs. Margo smiled, considering her peers that were still seated and scribbling feverishly in their exam booklets. Aside from her muffled heels against the carpet, the only sound in the hushed classroom was the staccato noise of pencils moving across paper.

_They're so slow, _she thought haughtily, and shifted her blue gaze to the curly-haired professor seated at the front of the room.

_Charlie_.

Margo stepped down and crossed the lecture floor. She paused before his desk and smiled again when his dark eyes lit up at the sight of her, at the sight of _any_ break in the long silence that giving an exam entailed.

_What you've done here is particularly elegant_, she imagined him telling her over dinner.

She had overheard him give those very words just the previous afternoon to Dr. Ramanujan. Margo had observed them together from her secret place, hidden in his office walls.

Over the last year and a half she'd perfected the art of watching Charlie. It was part of her life. She could not stop watching him any more than she could stop eating or sleeping. Margo knew when he was at CalSci. She knew when he was at home. When he wasn't at one of those two places, she knew he was probably wrapped up where she couldn't watch him—with the FBI and his fed brother.

Margo hated the FBI.

Earlier that morning she'd found Charlie again on one of the trails he frequented at CalSci. It was an easy hiking path, and there were lots of high ridges above it that gave her a clear view of the mathematician as he walked briskly along the layers of fallen leaves and sprawling tree roots.

_He stopped and took a seat, choosing a large boulder to climb up on to rest. A clipboard and pen were brought out of his backpack and immediately Charlie began covering the page in math so complex even Margo couldn't decipher its purpose. She moved closer, inching to the edge of her vantage point to get a better look. She clung to a tree trunk and leaned over the ridge, squinting through her binoculars. _

_Charlie sighed and yanked the page of math free from his clipboard, revealing an enlarged photograph that had been clipped beneath his equations. The picture was of an eyeless, lipless woman. It gave Margo shivers. _

_Charlie stared at it for a long time._

He never knew how she mapped his steps, or how badly she wanted to run her hands through his curly hair, over his ears…

A throat cleared, and Margo was yanked straight from her thoughts and back to the math professor gazing up at her from his desk, his chin resting on top of a palm and a quirky smile on his face. She half expected him to start drumming his fingers.

Mortified, Margo felt her face began to flush. How long had she stood there? She quickly handed over her test and began fiddling with her purse strap to give her emptied fingers something to do.

Her teacher accepted the booklet, assessing it with a cursory glance for completeness, and set it aside.

"Can I leave?" she whispered, letting embarrassment leak into her voice. She reached up with her free hand and tucked a strand of dyed brown hair behind an ear.

Charlie, who was barely older than she was, kept his professional smile.

"That was the deal," he said softly, not wanting to distract his students on the front row. He nodded towards the top of the stairs where two double doors sealed his classroom from the noise of the world.

"Enjoy the holidays," he glanced down at her exam booklet, "Margo. It's been a pleasure."

Margo felt warmth spread again over her chest and throat. She nodded and quickly turned away, unable to keep the grin from her face as she walked back up the carpeted stairs towards the room's rear exit.

She paused at the doors and turned for a final look at the class she'd been attending for five months. The rows upon rows of still seated, still furiously working students blurred into a mass of ugly, unimportant visual information. Her blue gaze rested again upon the young professor for several moments, knowing she would miss seeing him twice a week like this. He was so passionate about math, so endearing to watch when he taught.

_But he can still teach me. He'll have plenty of time when Daddy doesn't need him. It won't take me long to catch up to him, and then he'll see, he'll understand._

Her fingers gripped the strap of her purse tightly and for the hundredth time Margo went over the calculations and projections in her mind. It still wasn't too late to turn back.

She glanced at the clock on the left wall of the lecture room. Yes. When it was time, Professor Eppes would definitely still be at his desk. He would not get up and pace around while the slower students finished their tests. He would not step out to smoke or talk on his phone. He never did those things. He would stay right in place, just like he had through every other test that semester.

Her lips twitched into a private smile. Her attention shifted from the clock back to the professor, and immediately her heart missed a beat.

Curious and dark, his eyes were aimed right at her.

Margo quickly gave him a frantic wave and reached for one of the heavy doors. She lingered only long enough to see him lift a hand and return an awkward little wave of his own. His face was positively bemused. Shamed, Margo ducked her head and escaped the room.

**Ten minutes left the clock on the wall. Just as Margo intended, her classmates remained in their seats, and the object of her affections stayed in his desk at the front of the room, centered, and several feet from the first row of test takers. A transparent board stood to his left, but today there were no numbers splayed elegantly across its surface—only the words "Enjoy the Holidays!" written in the giant bubbly letters she'd spied Amita Ramanujan writing the day before.**

**Margo hated Amita Ramanujan.**

Charlie was almost exhausted by the act of being still _and_ quiet _and _required to pay attention to his busy students and not the numbers that whispered in his head.

It was not often he found himself unable to work, to talk, to at least pace around exerting energy in some fashion, but unfortunately there was no way to avoid such a situation indefinitely. His students needed a quiet, serious atmosphere in which to take their final examination, and he needed to be present to ensure academic integrity, not to mention for the sake of professionalism.

Research showed, after all, that students taking mathematics exams performed at higher levels thirty-five percent of the time when their instructor was present during the assessment.

Charlie supposed many factors played into why this was the case, and was running through the strands of variables when the world around him shattered into walls of screams and blistering heat.

He did not have time to react. He did not even realize he was no longer at his desk, but flat on the ground.

Lying on his back, Charlie found his curly hair wet and matted. He stared at his bloody fingers. He heard voices.

They were students. They were calling his name.

"I'm coming," Charlie sighed, but his bones were too heavy. He could not move. Instead, he wondered at the fire rolling across the ceiling, and the sounds of many feet running towards him.

**Away, outside the doors of his classroom, students and teachers were running from the building. Smoke filled the halls, but the sprinklers did not activate. The alarms did not flash or sound. This did not stop the front doors of Lynoll-Briggs Hall from unleashing a deluge of frantic humans. They spilled down the marble steps and stumbled over the small lawn. Bewildered onlookers gathered to watch, and in some cases, to help. **

All thoughts of their (tentatively) scheduled lunch vanished from her mind. Amita froze the moment she rounded the sidewalk that wrapped around the east side of Wilson Hall. She'd heard the loud, echoing boom only minutes before, at the time assuming it was from the construction going on only a block down from Lynoll-Briggs Hall. Now her mind was quickly putting the pieces together—the people, the injuries, the smoke and fire coming from the top floors. With growing horror, Amita began moving, her desperate eyes scanning the crowds of people gathered on the grass. They were growing thicker, congealing around her as she tried to find a curly head among them.

"Charlie!" she called. Amita glanced around at the students and teachers that surrounded her. All of them were talking at once. Some of them had blood on them. Amita couldn't help but imagine Charlie, staggering and covered with blood. She flipped open her cell to call him and was greeted with a black screen.

_Right. Forgot to charge it. _Frustrated, Amita shoved the phone back into her jean's pocket.

"Charlie!" she resumed. "Has anyone seen Charlie? Has anyone seen Professor Eppes?"

She grunted as a large custodian elbowed her out of his path. He carried a badly burned student cradled in his arms. He was yelling for an ambulance. Amita's knees grew weak and she tore her eyes off the burned body. Her mind showed her another figment of Charlie, his body chewed up by flames. The jostling crowd began to press around her again. Everyone was yelling at the same time for help, for space, for people to back away from the building.

"Charlie!" Amita shouted, adding her own voice to the cacophony of noise.

"Amita!"

She whipped around and saw Larry Fleinhardt twisting through the crowd to reach her side.

"Thank the stars you're okay!" Larry looked her up and down to make sure. "I was over there on that bench when it happened. I almost thought it was thunder, some kind of heat-induced storm brewing up, but then all these people started fleeing the building, and there was blood and crying…"

Larry's fingers worried at his chin as he analyzed the building over the heads of the crowd. "Amita, have you seen Charles? He's not answering his phone."

She shook her head. "He was giving his last final in there today."

_I think he's still inside. I think he could be hurt. I think he could be dead, _she did not say, but Larry heard it all in the cracking of her voice. The very idea of his brilliant young friend trapped within a maelstrom of fire terrorized Larry's mind with the potential repercussions.

"Let's try to get closer," Amita said, already moving. "People are still coming out. His exam was on the fourth floor… maybe…"

"I'll call Don," Larry agreed, tugging out his phone as they began to weave through the massing crowd.

Amita saw more people than she could count holding their hands up, filming the fire licking from the building's windows with the digital cameras tucked in their palms. First responders were quickly rolling onto the scene, and she could only hope to see Charlie among the people they would rescue.

**They would discover only charred remains once the fires were put out. Some students would be found at the classroom's main doors, which had been jammed shut from the outside. Others would be discovered at the front of the room or near their seats in gruesome, smoldering piles.**

Charlie coughed and covered his face with trembling fingers. It was so hot his clothes were sticking to him. He wanted to get up and turn on the AC, but his head ached terribly.

"Dad," he croaked. "Can you… can you turn down the heat?"

A pair of hands grabbed fistfuls of his jacket, and Charlie felt his body drag across the carpeted floor. Startled, the young professor forced his eyes open and realized he was still in his classroom, and it was still on fire. From his position in the room, Charlie judged he was being dragged towards the fire exit situated several feet behind his desk.

"Don? What's going on?"

The hands disappeared, wrapped around his middle, and lifted Charlie up to his feet. His arm was slung over a muscular shoulder. Disoriented by the sudden shift, Charlie clung to keep himself upright. The man was way too tall, too muscled up to be his brother.

"Don't worry, Professor. I got you," a gruff voice assured into Charlie's ear. "My name's Rick. The place is burning up. Let me help you out of here."

Charlie was guided forward, and then around something large and covered in blood. His brain dimly acknowledged that it was several humans splattered across the floor, and Charlie calculated the distance and direction, and realized they had been thrown backwards, away from the fire escape's door.

The bodies bore bloody splotches across their chests and Charlie couldn't help but count the bullet holes. The fiery numbers burned in his mind. They hurt. He stumbled and halted, and heard his savior swear.

"Charlie, we have to go," Rick urged.

"Someone killed them," the professor said, eyes wide. "They must have been running for the fire exit." His words dissolved into coughs.

"I know, Charlie," Rick agreed, tightening his grip on the smaller man's waist. "But we can't help them. I've got to save _you_. I'm FBI. Your brother's on his way and he'll kick my ass if I don't get you out of here, got it?"

"Don knows?" Charlie asked, his dark, confused eyes searching Rick's face.

"Yes. _Now let's go_." The man did not give Charlie any more time to stop and wonder at the blistering heat or the carnage before them.

Charlie was ushered quickly from the room. Outside he was released, and immediately the professor sank to sit on the cool metal landing of a fire escape. He planted his feet on the first row of narrow stairs and coughed almost uncontrollably into his hands. He coughed so much he was sure his throat would start bleeding. When the coughing subsided he covered his face with both hands. The sunlight was so bright. The numbers were gone, but now there was a distinct ringing noise deep in his ears. It was high pitched, like a nail hideously screeching along a chalkboard.

Metal twisted behind him. Charlie peeked warily from the shield of his palms, squinting at the intense brightness of the world. A tall man with short, brown hair, surely the same man who had pulled Charlie from the room, was busily jamming the door they'd just exited from. The man was not Don. Or David. Or Colby. He was Rick, he'd said, but who was Rick? He was dressed in dark combat gear. An automatic weapon was hanging from his back.

Charlie's dazed brain screamed at him, assailing him with the faces of his students, and at once he realized that the fire had originated from an explosion, a blast that was surely a bomb, and that his students could still be trapped inside. They had been screaming! But this guy, this _Rick_ was sealing them in. He was jamming the door. Why would he do that?

"Don't!" Charlie cried. His raw throat made his voice sound scratchy and weak. When the man ignored him, Charlie struggled to his feet and latched onto Rick's giant arm in a vain attempt to rip it away from the door.

"Let go," the man growled, trying to shake Charlie off. "We don't have time for this."

"My students," Charlie rasped. He reached and grabbed at the metal contraption that was twisted through the door's handle.

"Listen to me," Rick snapped, snatching Charlie's black jacket, right at the shoulder. He used his grip to swing Charlie around and slam the smaller man straight into the jammed door.

Charlie's back hit hard and a surge of dizziness made his brain fill like little fuzzy sparks were going off inside its walls. He shook his head and sagged against the door while he took deep breaths and tried to will away the sharp ringing in his ears. His heart beat painfully fast in his chest.

"Now I need you to listen up. _Look_ at me," Rick snarled at the top of the curly head he loomed over. The professor looked up at him with pained, wary brown eyes.

"You can't save them. Them in there, they're already dead," Rick explained, his hazel eyes hard as steel.

Charlie heard sirens, but the sudden motion of being spun around and slammed against a hard surface had his brain still reeling. "Why are you..? You said Don…"

"Come without any drama, Professor, and I promise no one else will get hurt."

"But I… I don't understand, if you just… what…Who are you again?" increasingly confused, Charlie's head began to pound, and he wondered if he had a concussion.

Losing his patience, the man released the younger man's jacket and wrapped Charlie's chin into a tight grip. "I need you to focus, _genius_."

Charlie swallowed and kept his wide eyes locked on the man's reddened face.

"This is what's happening. My name is Rick. My job is to kidnap you. You will come quietly. If you give me any more grief, I'll signal our sniper to pick off your friends on the other side of this building," Rick warned, squeezing Charlie's jaw tighter with each sentence.

"My friends?" Charlie winced at the pressure. _He's not FBI. He doesn't know Don. You're so stupid, Charlie. Stupid. Stupid…_

"Yeah, that physicist and your girlfriend. They have funny last names," Rick said, nodding. "We've been keeping our sights on them for some time, just in case you needed some motivation. You need some motivation, Professor?"

Horrified, Charlie pressed himself against the jammed door. He suddenly became aware of how far up the fire escape was. The ground looked tiny beneath the grated metal floor he stood on. He realized he could hear voices, a great many in fact, coming from the other side of the building, but as he gazed out over the campus on his side of the building, there was hardly anybody.

"We have to go," Rick said. "We have to go before we're noticed. They can only keep this area clear for so long."

Charlie wondered just how many _they_ comprised.

"If I come with you, you'll leave Am—my friends—alone?" Charlie asked. His voice shook, but he straightened up, peeling himself off the hot door that sealed away his students.

He had to get this guy and whoever else was with him away from CalSci, away from more innocent people. Then Don would find him, he was sure, and everything would work out.

Rick nodded. "When we get to the car I'll let our sniper know their elimination isn't necessary today."

"Okay," Charlie said. "I'll go."

"Good. Think you can make it down all these stairs?" Rick asked with a grin.

Charlie looked down the narrow steps and landings. They were four stories up, and looking downward made his mind reel again. The pain on his forehead throbbed. His heart felt ripped open and raked clean as he thought about the students he was leaving behind. He knew they were probably dead, but still…

"I'll take silence as a yes," Rick said.

Charlie was then yanked forward and twisted around, and marched quickly down the metal stairs. He stumbled down each step, held upright only by the man's hands and his own sliding grip along the stair railing. His vision swarmed half black as he was pushed over grass, over concrete, and through the small gap that etched a walkway between Gordon and Palmer Halls.

Past them, Charlie saw a black van, and then the interior of it once he was shoved inside.

Rick climbed into the backseat after him and Charlie pressed himself as far away from the man as he could. A hand drifted back to his forehead and Charlie winced, gingerly fingering the thin, painful wound. It felt like an elongated paper cut. He jumped when Rick slid the van's door shut, slamming it. The doors instantly locked.

"Let's roll," Rick told the driver smugly. "I'll get our little friend tucked away."


	2. Scene

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Numb3rs.

* * *

UFO

Creepy

Ratio

Underfoot

Parasite

**Consider Yourself Adopted 2/10**

* * *

The kidnapper shrugged free of his assault rifle, placing the gun between his knee and the van's sliding door. He turned his hazel eyes on Charlie and found the professor pressed into the opposite corner of the backseat, gingerly touching the wound half-hidden by his curly hair.

_It quit bleeding. Well that's good, _Rick figured. He'd checked the injury earlier, back when he'd first found Charlie lying on the floor.

_We got him, and the feds got their fiery mess to clean up. Time to beat it and deliver the package,_ Rick thought, watching the professor with a grim smirk.

Jacob, the overweight driver of the sleek van, shifted in his seat as he drove further from the vicinity of Lynoll-Briggs Hall. His blue eyes glanced at the rearview mirror for a glimpse of the young man they'd spent all day acquiring.

Jacob smiled with yellow teeth. "Everything went smooth?"

"It was fine," Rick answered. "The roadblocks worked. Nobody was on the streets. The whole back of the building was dead space. You'd never know the other side's a circus."

"Yeah, I saw people running that way after the boom. You'd think they'd know to run _away _from explosions. Stupid college kids," Jacob sneered, his sausage fingers directing the van onto a larger street.

Charlie looked from his tinted window and realized the black van was making a beeline for the nearest edge of campus. His worried eyes watched a series of ambulances and police cars race by. The eerie sound of sirens echoed after them.

"Is he okay?" Jacob asked, sounding pleased at the possibility that Charlie _wasn't_. "He's got blood on his face. You didn't knock him around, did you? You know you weren't supposed to hurt him."

Still holding his head, Charlie looked up when he heard the driver's tone. He was startled to find the man already watching him in the rearview mirror.

"Hey kid," the driver addressed with a grin, "did he hurt you?"

"Don't answer that," Rick snapped, meeting Charlie's eyes and sending a warning with his own.

Rick switched his glare back towards the front seat. "Focus on the road, Jacob. He's fine. Something must've grazed him when I detonated the bombs. It's just a superficial wound, not even worth stiches."

_Something in the blast must've caught me in its trajectory,_ Charlie agreed. His eyes wandered down to take in the rest of him. His black jacket had a few rips and tears. He saw flecks of blood on the white shirt he wore un-tucked from his jeans, but it seemed other than his head (and the terrible sense of loss eating at his heart), Charlie was unharmed.

"Too bad," Jacob said, guiding the van further towards the outskirts of campus. "You're lucky whatever happened to his head didn't slice his scalp right off. The boss would've been pretty pissed. Maybe he'd finally fire your crazy ass."

"Keep dreaming," Rick replied, turning his attention back to the mathematician sitting beside him.

"Listen up, Charlie," the kidnapper said, a pair of handcuffs coming out of his vest pocket. "If you care about your friends with the funny last names, you'll follow my directions. Do what I say and Dr. Ramawhat and Fleinburg won't end up like those poor college kids, got it?"

The professor shot him a dark look.

"How will I know you haven't killed them—my friends, I mean?" Charlie asked, prodding at the stiff tangles in his hair. The nervousness in his quiet voice was not lost on the other two men in the van.

Rick liked it. "You won't. Now hold up your hands. Keep your wrists together."

Charlie swallowed and did so, disliking the way his hands shook as Rick snapped the cuffs around his wrists.

"Don't worry about getting blood on the seats," the kidnapper said conversationally, avoiding contact with the blood on Charlie's fingers. "We'll roast this van later tonight. Nobody wants Big Brother using it to track you down now that we got you, Professor."

_Does he mean Don or the FBI? _Charlie mused, his bound hands now resting on his lap. The cuffs felt awkward, but lucky for him they weren't tight enough to pinch his skin.

Charlie's gaze returned to the tinted window. The last stretches of CalSci were rolling past. The trees, sidewalks, and people passing by seemed forever unreachable. Charlie's brown eyes fell to his cuffed hands and the numbers in his head began whispering kidnapping statistics. He'd never see the Craftsman again. He'd probably be dead in 48 hours. His body would be buried in the desert. He'd never see his dad or Don, or Amita, Larry, David, Colby, Megan…

Memories of his family and friends crowded together in his mind. They all talked at once. Their noise became deafening. Charlie squeezed his eyes shut, willing the figments of his loved ones to disappear into a quiet sea of hushed numbers.

"What do you want with me?" Charlie asked his kidnapper, cautiously watching the other. For the first time, he noticed the contours of body armor and a bulletproof vest hiding beneath the man's dark combat suit.

"Me?" Rick was amused. "I just want you to be quiet and do everything I tell you."

"I don't suppose," Charlie said quietly, "that you can tell me who you're working for?"

"You think I'm working for someone, Sherlock?"

"Well, your pal in the front seat did mention a _boss_," Charlie pointed out.

Rick's eyes steeled over again. "You kinda have a smart mouth, don't you, Professor?"

He suddenly became aware of the hairs on the back of his neck. Charlie lowered his eyes, feeling as if something were warning him to shut his mouth. He focused on his shoes. They were bloodstained. His mind jumped back to the burning classroom and the bodies he'd seen lying near the fire exit.

_He must have come through the door and shot them, _Charlie reasoned, swallowing a hard knot of grief for the young lives. _He ripped them apart._

"All right, kid. I need to put you down for a while," Rick said, and Charlie snapped his attention back to the kidnapper, particularly the syringe the other man was holding.

"What are you—No, you don't have to do that. I can—I'll close my eyes, or you can blindfold me," Charlie suggested anxiously, wanting no part of any unknown substance shoved through his veins. He recommenced pressing himself as far into his side of the backseat as possible. His cuffed hands were raised in pathetic defense.

"Changing your tone now, huh? Look, Professor. I'm going to stick this in your neck, so don't move or you might get hurt," Rick said, snatching Charlie by the arm as he closed the space between them.

When Charlie began to resist, the kidnapper sighed dramatically.

"Your friends are not safe, Charlie," the kidnapper reminded. "You're not helping them. In fact, you're making me want to call up my sniper buddy and tell him to have at it. Hell, he can shoot some of those first responders while he's at it. Maybe an FBI agent or two? It's your call."

Rick was pleased when the professor grew very still. Quickly, the kidnapper let go of Charlie's arm, threading his fingers through curly hair and using his grip to expose Charlie's throat. After injecting him with the sedative, Rick let go of Charlie and slid back to his own side of the backseat.

The mathematician shuddered, pulling his bound arms to his chest the moment he was released. He resumed pressing himself into his corner of the backseat, and even curled in his legs, planting his shoes on the leather seat to create a terribly inadequate barrier between himself and Rick.

It took several minutes for his body to relax. His heart slowed down. He was sinking into the seat, and his head was too heavy to hold up.

"Just let it work, Professor," Rick said, twisted on his seat to keep both eyes on his huddled captive. "Take deep breaths. Nothing bad's gonna to happen to you. You're just going to sleep."

Charlie could tell the car was moving faster. Were they getting on the interstate?

_Just going to sleep_, he assured himself, his mind growing fuzzy. Ten more minutes crawled by before he finally slipped away._  
_

**Several miles away, his brother slammed the door of a car. Don Eppes headed straight for an abandoned house and its accompanying tin shed. Several LAPD cars were already parked around the premises. Their blue and red lights flashed brilliantly in the fading afternoon.** **The headline from the morning's newspaper haunted Don's footsteps.**

_FBI Flounders as Eastside Eyesnatcher Strikes Again._

Don ducked under the police tape, ignoring the calls and thinly veiled accusations of the media as he hurried into the much quieter dark of the tin shed. His phone was vibrating in his pocket, but it could wait. Don needed to see the girl first. He needed to know if they'd failed to save another one.

Megan Reeves was on his heels. The shadows of the shed were oppressive, prompting both agents to bring out their flashlights. Carefully they picked a path over empty paint cans, filthy green tarps, scattered tools, and other pieces of junk to ground zero of the crime scene.

"She's definitely victim sixteen," a field examiner was saying. All around the hunched over man were other agents and examiners, all of them carrying out their own jobs of collecting evidence, taking photographs, filling out paperwork. A set of large battery powered lanterns were being used to give light to the crime scene since the shed had no electricity.

Don knelt on the other side of the victim's heavily bruised body and further illuminated her face with the glow of his flashlight. Sure enough, her eyes were removed. Her empty sockets were a stark contrast to the relaxed, calm expression her corpse wore.

"Looks like she put up a fight," Megan said of the pallid young woman at her feet. A thin frown marred the agent's face. "Ligature marks around her neck. He strangled this one."

The gum in Don's mouth was losing its flavor as he chewed it quickly, his eyes scanning the rest of the victim. Like the others, she was naked except for her socks. Her body was left spread-eagled.

"He left her lips," Don said, looking up at Reeves. "Are we sure this is the same guy?"

Megan's flashlight was pointing around the claustrophobic room as she surveyed the shed for any more clues about their perpetrator. "Are you thinking this is the work of a copy-cat?"

"I dunno, it's just, well—it's a break in pattern, don't you think?" Don eased himself up, brown eyes roaming the shed's gloomy walls. "She's the first one he didn't dump by the interstate, the first to be strangled. He didn't remove her lips. Why change his MO?"

"Maybe he was in a hurry," Megan offered, targeting a spare tire with her flashlight. "I bet those are her clothes lying in that tire, and look at the ground."

Megan gestured at the scuffed up dirt. "This isn't a dump site. This is where she fought for her life. Something must have spooked our guy into cutting out early."

Don gave Megan a look that said …_Really?_

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, bad choice of words considering the man's penchant for eyeballs and exact-o knives," she admitted.

"My point remains," she continued, "that we might as well operate under the assumption that this is our guy until stronger evidence, say DNA or something real compelling your brother comes up with, suggests otherwise. Besides, Don, this shed fits right in the middle of the killer's zone of familiarity _and_ that map Charlie made us the other day."

Don nodded; remembering the presentation his brother had given the team earlier that week.

"Yeah, well, wish we knew what scared him off," he muttered.

"No telling," Megan sighed. "You can bet on one thing, though."

She indicated the body with a small nod. "_This_ isn't going to hold him over for long. He's gonna have to strike again real soon to get his _fix_. He could already be out there stalking number seventeen."

"Great. Wonderful," Don said, moving to get a closer look at the spare tire's contents. Along with the victim's clothes, a frayed rope was stuffed in its center, and there seemed to be more. Don squatted down, aiming his flashlight at the collection of odds and ends. He saw the tip of something rectangular and plastic, and quickly pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

Megan plucked out her vibrating phone and flipped it open, smiling as she said, "Well hi handsome, sorry but you've caught me at a crime scene—Whoa, slow down, Larry. Say it again?"

Don held up the plastic card and felt a thrill of relief in his chest. He held it to his light.

"Okay, we'll be there," Megan said, her eyes snapping to Don as she put away her phone. "Don…"

"I'm pretty sure this is her license." Don squinted at the tiny print. "It looks like her. Her name is—was Lucy Sheffield. Looks like her eyes were blue. She wore glasses," Don said, tilting his head to the side as he read the rest of her information. She was an organ donor.

"Don, that was Larry on the phone," Megan said. Realizing she should text Colby and David, she quickly pulled out her phone again. "He wants to know if we can run over to CalSci."

"Oh yeah? What's up?" Don asked, eyes still on the evidence. It was huge. It was a victim they could attach to a place and time, even an address. Most of the Eyesnatcher's victims were Jane Does. They could retrace Lucy's steps. Maybe even determine where she'd been kidnapped. Maybe Charlie could help.

Firing off a text to the rest of the team, Megan gave her full attention back to Don. "Larry says there was an explosion about ten minutes ago in a building where your brother was giving a class. He's there right now with Amita, but they can't get ahold of Charlie. They think he's still inside."

"There was an explosion?" Don was standing, his eyes on Megan. The license rested on the tire. "Like an experiment gone wrong?"

"Like a bomb going off," Megan said bluntly.

He was out of the tin shed and striding past the media again in seconds. The gloves were off his hands.

"They're sure he was there? They've tried calling him?" Don reached for his phone. _Two missed calls from Larry. Damn._

"Everything's going straight to voicemail," Megan said as she hurried after him.

Don's thoughts became linear. _She's right. No answer. __Get to the car. Get to CalSci. Get to Charlie._

"Some building gets _blown up_ and the FBI isn't notified?" Don asked incredulously. He reached the car, yanking open the door and disappearing inside.

Megan slid into the passenger's seat, closing her door as Don pulled away from the curb. "The FBI _is_ there."

"Are they sure Charlie is? Couldn't he be somewhere else with his headphones on? He spaces out sometimes, when he's doing math, I mean," Don told her, speeding up the street with the car's lights flashing.

"Going kinda fast, Don," Megan warned, gripping the armrests. "I'm sure Charlie's okay. Lord knows I've given up underestimating him."

"You think someone targeted him because of his work for us, or the NSA?"

"It's possible," Megan said, clinging when the car rounded a sharp corner. She glanced down at her phone. "David got my text. Colby and he are on their way to CalSci. _Slow down_, Don. If we get in a wreck, it'll take us that much longer to get to the scene."

_The scene,_ Don thought, disliking the phrase being applied to CalSci intensely. What would they find at _the scene_?

**When Colby Granger and David Sinclair arrived at the scene, the area was already swarming with LAPD jackets. The FBI was present. Ambulances were pulling away with wounded students and faculty, and firemen were flowing up and down the marble steps of Lynoll-Briggs Hall.**

**By the time Don and Megan arrived, the fires were out and Search and Rescue had already been inside the building for over thirty minutes. Much of the crowd had been dispersed, although some students could be found standing about and talking to law enforcement about what they'd witnessed.**

A police barricade had been set up to ward people away from getting too close while first responders did their job. Situated very close to the building's front, Megan and Don found Colby, David, Larry, and Amita.

Larry and Amita were seated on a bench. The older professor had a protective arm over the younger's slim shoulders. She was crying quietly into her hands. Don could see that a cloud of grief hung heavily over both of his brother's friends.

David and Colby saw their team leader approaching and both agents exchanged looks of resignation that Don instantly disliked.

"Well, what happened? They find Charlie yet?" Don asked, reaching the group.

Megan went straight to Larry, who took her hand tightly in his own as she sat beside him on the bench.

_Charlie is fine. Even if he's hurt, he's fine. He'll be fine, _Don assured himself.

David met his eyes first. His look was grim and sympathetic.

Don could hardly stand it. "Well?"

"Don," David began, "I talked to the guys I know from the bomb squad that was sent up, and their first guess is this was a targeted attack. They said it looks like the two classrooms on either side of Charlie's were rigged with small explosives."

"How can they be sure it was Charlie's classroom?" Don asked. "His name on the door, or something?"

Amita's face lifted from her hands. Her eyes were puffy. "Don, it was definitely Charlie's room," she said, her voice strained. "David was told the bombs affected primarily three classrooms: 410, 412, and 414. I was on my way to meet Charlie in room 412. He's been giving a class there all semester."

Don swallowed. His brain racing to come up with a different answer. "But he could be at a hospital. You've checked into that, right?"

Colby stepped closer, laying a heavy hand on Don's shoulder. His green eyes arrested Don's. "It doesn't look good, man. David's friends told him there are zero survivors in those rooms. Everything's completely burned up. I'm... I'm sorry, but it's looking bad for us."

Don was not having it. The moment those words left Colby's mouth he was moving. He went over the barricade and marched straight up the marble steps, ignoring the calls of his team.

**Inside the building, Don next ignored the itch in his lungs. His eyes burned from the smoke still lingering in the halls.**

**The air only grew more hazy and difficult to breathe as he neared the third floor's expansive staircase. A wall of smoke met him at the top, as did a wall of firefighters. Two of the men snatched Don, asked him what the hell he was thinking, and manhandled him back down the stairs to where Colby and David were rushing up after him. As a cohesive unit, the men removed Don from Lynoll-Brigg's Hall, depositing him back on the other side of the police barrier where he'd first crossed. **

**Don tried to surge forward again, but a well-aimed shove to the chest from Colby helped bring him to his senses. They could check the hospitals for Charlie. Maybe he'd been lucky. As for searching the building for any signs of his little brother, Don was told over and over that he would just have to wait until the scene was ready to be processed by the FBI. Wait for the smoke to be cleared out.**

**He would have to wait. **

**While he waited, he would call every hospital to be sure. **

When Charlie awoke again his hands were still handcuffed and he was lying on a thinly carpeted surface. Instantly he could tell he was in a moving vehicle, and not only that, but in the trunk of one. Charlie shifted from his side to his back. His bound hands reached up and almost immediately thunked against the roof of the trunk, confirming his suspicions.

_Vans don't have trunks,_ Charlie thought to himself. _They've switched vehicles. _

He became aware of something wrapped around his head. He reached up, his bound hands brushing against what felt like a bandage. The blood was gone from his face, too.

_How long have I been unconscious?_

The idea that Rick and possibly that other guy, _Jacob_, his brain supplied, had been touching him and moving him around while he was knocked out made Charlie intensely uncomfortable. They'd cleaned up the wound on his forehead. He wondered at what that could mean.

Hours seemed to drag by, and Charlie had nothing to do but lay there on the thin carpet and think about every possibility. He eventually started to doze off from the sheer lack of anything to do, and in the hopes that perhaps sleep would help dampen down the fierce pain in his head.

**The next time he woke up, the trunk was being opened. **

"Come on, Professor. Time to upgrade to First Class," Rick sneered, grabbing Charlie by the arms and pulling him out of the trunk.


	3. Clothes

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Numb3rs.

* * *

UFO

Creepy

Ratio

Underfoot

Parasite

**Consider Yourself Adopted 3/10**

* * *

_"Look, Charlie, I understand you have a lot on your plate this time of the year and all, but c'mon, people's lives are at stake. We've got to get this figured out. Just try and hurry it, okay?"_

_Charlie flashed Don a brown-eyed smile, grabbing his backpack and heading for the door of his office. "Sure, I'll call you as soon as I have something useful."_

_"Thanks," Don said, breathing the word with gratitude._

_After his brother left, Don didn't follow. Instead, the agent relaxed into the quiet calmness of Charlie's office, finding a strange, familiar comfort in the chalkboards and books, even the strings of numbers he couldn't understand. _

_The numbers were everywhere, not just on the chalkboards, but on papers, sticky notes, posters... To him, they were like hieroglyphs on ancient walls._

_Don reluctantly eased out of Charlie's comfy office chair. He ignored the craving he felt for his apartment, for his bed. The case was not resting, so neither could he. The Eastside Eyesnatcher was already stalking another victim. The press was having a field day, and Don felt the whole situation slipping out of control as the bodies, the numbers—the calls for justice—all of it stacked higher and towered over his head, threatening to fall._

_"Control?" his father had scoffed at dinner the night before. "Don, control in most situations is an illusion."_

* * *

**When the structural integrity of Lynoll-Briggs Hall was no longer in question, and the bomb squad was finished, and Search and Rescue withdrew from the building subdued and empty-handed, only then was the FBI allowed to process the scene. Unleashed, they hurried up the stairs. **

**Larry and Amita remained on the bench, shocked and silent as their brilliant minds tried to accept what seemed to be the truth. Search and Rescue had rescued no one, and the hospitals didn't hold Charlie among their wounded. ****Larry's face was pressed into his palms. Beside him, ****Amita's gaze was fixed in the direction of the setting sun. ****The hearts of both felt scraped away by something thorough and metallic.**

**Overhead, news helicopters patrolled the skies.**

"Don, maybe you should let us go in first," David tried, but he was bypassed without a word.

Debris crunched beneath his shoes as Don stepped into ground zero of the scene. Classroom 412 was charred and ghostlike. Small fragments of ash softly fell, evident by the large lighting erected to illuminate the room as it grew darker outside and the building's power remained off. The walls that still stood were fire scarred with a thick, dark grit. Skeletal pieces of seating, of tables, stuck up awkwardly from the auditorium-style classroom's leveled floor. Bright markers identified the scorched remains of humans. Most of the markers indicated the victims died amongst the ruined furniture. However, as he walked slowly down the center aisle's stairs, Don was quick to notice a large grouping of the small colorful flags clustered at the front of the room, down on the main lecture floor.

Colby and the rest of his team were already poking around there.

Granger stooped and picked up a blackened object. He turned the shell casing over in his gloved hand and regarded it with a creased brow. "Don, it's just like the bomb squad said, these people were shot. I'm counting... at least thirty bullet casings concentrated here."

"Shows a lot of rage," Megan commented, carefully walking around the victims. Her light brown eyes lit upon each body. She didn't think any of them were Charlie, but some of them just didn't have enough left for her to be sure in her identifications. One gave her a scare, but upon closer inspection, Megan realized the person wore earrings, and their frizzy hair was too long to be Charlie's.

"These kids were probably running for the fire exit when they got shot," David said, nodding at the closed door. It was only a few feet away.

"It looks like the initial blast didn't catch anyone at the front of the room." Colby gestured at the broken seats and tables that fanned around the lecture floor like an old cemetery, like headstones jutting up and half-sunken into the ground. There were no little colored markers among the first two rows of seating. The blast hadn't killed those seated there.

"These people had time to get up and make a run for safety." Granger's green eyes looked at the rest of the team. "You said he was giving a test, right? Then wouldn't Charlie have been up at the front of the room, too?"

Don heard their voices, but his mind was too wrapped up in looking for any sign that one of the remains belonged to his little brother. The bodies were badly burned. Completely black and gnarled in strange postures. They were horrific.

Photographers began snapping pictures. Examiners went to work. Next would be the coroner's office.

_What did you expect? Did you think he'd be standing up here, waiting for you?_ Don asked himself. _Charlie is dead._

"If that's the case, than the initial blast wouldn't have gotten Charlie either," David said, picking up on Colby's line of thought. He looked hard at the large group of human remains. He searched for Charlie in their blackened faces and tangled limbs.

_He's not here,_ David thought, and his chest ached at the relief he suddenly felt.

"Wait, wait, wait," Megan cautioned, sensing exactly what the other two were thinking. The same hope was threatening to override her senses, too. If Charlie should have been at the front of the room, and he wasn't among those shot, then was it possible he'd survived? That he was alive somewhere?

"Let's get our facts straight," she said. "While we were waiting outside I did some checking and found that Charlie had thirty-three students on roll for this particular class."

"Search and Rescue reported thirty-two bodies," David said, glancing at his notepad to be sure. "Add a teacher, and there should have been thirty-four people in this room. Two are missing. One of those could be our mathematician."

"Yeah, or maybe those two missing people are students who ducked out early _before_ the bombs went off," Colby said, reluctant but realistic. "Maybe they finished their test, or skipped class entirely."

"Or maybe they didn't," Megan said, indicating with her tone that perhaps the missing people should be considered suspects.

"It'll be easier to tell once the bodies are identified," Colby said. "So until then, what else do we know?"

David motioned at the bullet casings scattered on the floor. "Well, we know these people here were executed. Someone came through that door," he pointed at the fire exit, "packing heat cause they knew people were going to be running for safety. Whoever did this didn't just blow the place up. They took the effort to come in and make sure there were zero survivors."

"The fire chief said the main doors were sealed shut with an OX87," Colby told the group, nodding towards the room's main entrance. "It's essentially a military grade door jammer. First responders had to cut through it just to get in."

Megan walked over to the fire exit and pushed against the door. It didn't budge. "What'cha wanna bet one of those OX-thingies is on the other side of this door, too?"

The three considered for a moment, and then Colby spoke.

"So, our shooter comes in through the fire escape, takes out the people who_ didn't_ die from the bomb's explosion, leaves, and then jams the door?" Granger shook his head. "Why not just seal up the room from both sides to begin with?"

"Guys, we're assuming the shooter wasn't already inside the room when the explosion happened," Megan said. "He could have had help detonating the bombs, or done it remotely."

"That's true, but once again, why? Why not just seal the class up and let it burn?" Colby asked.

"There had to be something more," David said. "There had to be something, or someone, worth coming in for."

They were quiet again, so Colby voiced what they were all beginning to hope. "Maybe... they were after a guy we know who's good with numbers."

"Are you saying this was a diversion?" Megan scanned the room, taking in the destruction again. "You think Charlie was the intended target, not for killing, but for, I dunno, kidnapping?"

"Sealing the room up afterwards made it take that much longer not only for first responders, but for _us_ to get in here and start putting the puzzle together," David said, completely on board with Colby's analysis. "Bomb squad's already told us that this was a targeted attack. This room was the intended target, but it could be more than that. It could be the blast was even more targeted, designed to affect primarily only the back half of the room because whoever did this _knew_ Charlie would be at the front of the room."

"Then our shooter eliminated these people, and…" Megan pinched the bridge of her nose. Was this really making sense or where they just trying to rationalize Charlie back to life? Could they really be that lucky?

_We've got to find out who these bodies are and where the two missing ones are,_ she told herself._ This elaborate setup… If what the boys are thinking is true, than who in the room would've been worth more to grab than our Charlie?_

"Where's Don?" David asked, and Megan and Colby joined him in suddenly noticing, looking around the room at all the other agents who were busily processing the scene.

**They found him several minutes later, after exiting the building and rounding it to view the fire escape. He was at the very top, pointing at the metal steps with his flashlight. Megan, Colby, and David quickly made their way up to join him.**

"Don? You find something?" Megan asked, pausing halfway up the fourth floor's landing and watching him. _Does he know what we know? That Charlie could be alive?_

Don was crouching, looking intently at the crisscrosses of metal that composed the staircase.

"Yeah," he confirmed, standing up slowly, as if he were his father and not a young man. "There are traces of blood all over this staircase. It's mostly on the rail, like someone had blood on their hands," he told them. They knew what Don was thinking. He was hoping it was a sign of Charlie. DNA testing would have to confirm or deny that much.

Don listened as the team told him what they believed happened in the classroom. When they were finished, he nodded, having put the same pieces together himself before leaving the building to check out the fire escape.

_Don't kid yourself, Eppes. Charlie is dead. No, you don't know that for sure. He could be dead. You don't know. You can't say yet, so don't think about it. _Don shut the thoughts out.

The team was watching him with their own grief and hope poorly hidden from their faces.

_Focus on the job, _he told himself.

"Okay. ...Someone injured was brought out through this door, probably by our shooter," Don said, gesturing at the sealed door. "Let's head back down and see if we can follow a trail, figure out where this vic... what happened next."

**Across the lawn there were several streets and buildings. Finding a trail at that point was impossible. The shooter could have gone anywhere, but Colby noted that some of the buildings had security cameras. The FBI found itself in a position to wait again. They would have to wait for evidence to be processed, and for tapes to be handed over for them to scrutinize. **

**Frustrated, but bound to carry on by the tentative hope that their friend was alive, the team dispersed to do their parts in hurrying the evidence along while Don opened his phone and at last listened to his father's voicemails. **

"_Hey, Don, have you heard from your brother? Is he with you? Remind him he's supposed to be helping me with the attic this evening. Oh, and feel free to drop by for dinner if you're hungry. It's a good night for shrimp and pasta."_

"_Hey, Don, what's this I'm hearing on the radio? Some kind of explosion at CalSci? Have you talked to Charlie? He's not answering his phone. Guess that's one thing you two have in common. Do me a favor and call your old man."_

"_Don, there are pictures all over the news. I've tried Larry and Amita. No one's picking up for me. Am I going to have to come down there to find out what's going on?"_

Sighing, Don slipped into the quiet of his car and dialed Alan's number. He doubted the man's cell phone even rung before it was answered. "Hey, Dad, where are you? ...Good. Stay at the house and I'll be there soon. Actually, _we'll_ be there soon. No... I haven't seen Charlie yet. I'm bringing Larry and Amita. I'll explain when I get there. It'll be easier. Put some coffee on, okay?"

_I haven't seen Charlie yet,_ Don repeated to himself after slipping his phone away. _None of those people were Charlie. No, Charlie was on the stairs. Who did this? _

There were too many variables to consider, his brother would say.

**As Don drove Larry and Amita to the Craftsman, miles away, Jacob put the black Mercedes into park and relaxed against the leather seat. His blue eyes took in the sprawling Mojave Desert and the driver smiled. ****The smell of lighter fluid was still heavy on his fingers.**

In the moment before Rick's large hands wrapped around his forearms, Charlie saw the darkening blue sky tinged in hot golds and oranges. Then his bound arms were snatched and the world spun violently. The kidnapper easily lifted and hauled him out of the trunk, setting the disoriented mathematician down on the pavement. Rick kept a bear's grip on the professor until Charlie was standing steadily on his own feet.

"Easy," Rick said gruffly. "You're not going to throw up, are you? You look kind of green."

"I think I'm entitled to look a little green," Charlie muttered, pressing his forehead against his clasped fingers. His pulse thrummed painfully against his skull.

"It could be worse," Rick replied, holding Charlie as he reached and slammed the trunk shut.

They were in the desert, the mathematician quickly realized. Open road met Charlie's gaze either way he looked.

_No one around to see them murder me,_ he thought, his eyes darting back to Rick and the bruising grip the man had on his arm. But just as he felt the panic rise, Charlie beat it down. He looked away from the kidnapper's hard face, thinking for several moments.

Whatever was going on in the professor's head, Rick could tell it was calming him down, which was good. The plan was to knock Charlie out again, but not until they were much closer to the city.

"You weren't sent to kill me and hide my body out here in the desert," Charlie swallowed and said, his dark eyes finding Rick again. "You could have just shot me in the classroom." _Like you did my students._

Rick gazed down at the curly head and rigid shoulders. His lip curled upwards at the genius's_ brilliant_ deduction.

"I already told you," the kidnapper said, "nothing bad's going to happen to you. Not from me, anyway. I'm just UPS."

Charlie did not respond, so Rick continued, picking a small key from one of his vest pockets. "You're still following my directions, right?"

Charlie nodded.

"Good. Hold up your hands."

Charlie did so, and Rick swiftly released him from the handcuffs, slipping the small key back into a vest pocket along with the cuffs.

"There are some clothes in the backseat," Rick said, watching Charlie rub at his wrists. "Get changed. You look like someone who just survived a bomb."

Charlie hesitantly glanced at the already opened door. He had little desire to go jumping into another backseat.

Rick took a pistol from one of the holsters he wore and aimed the gun straight at Charlie's forehead. He smirked when the little nerd immediately held up both hands and started backing towards the car.

"Okay, I got it—Stop pointing that at me, I'm going," Charlie insisted, climbing into the car. He pulled the door closed behind him and was shocked by what was lying on the seat. Along with a red t-shirt he'd worn a thousand times, Charlie found a familiar pair of jeans and his gray hoodie. In addition, there was a shoe box containing brand new sneakers identical to the ones he wore.

_They've been in my house,_ he thought, frozen at the sight of his things.

"Is there a problem, Professor?" Jacob asked, fat face grinning back at him. "Need some privacy?"

"Did you take these things from my house?" Charlie asked.

"Not personally," Jacob replied, amused by the glare he was receiving. "I haven't been in your house. Now, as someone who's seen the _outside_ of it more than once, I can admit it's a real nice place. Looks very welcoming. I always liked those Craftsman houses. There's something real authentic about them, you know?"

Jacob added, "Look, if you're worried about the old guy or your fed brother, don't. They're fine as long as you keep cooperating with us. You've got the boss's word on that, and he doesn't break promises. Now hurry up and change before you piss Ricky off and he does something stupid. We've got to get you to the boss on time or he'll dock our pay."

That said, the driver hefted himself out of the vehicle, taking the keys with him, and left Charlie to swap into clean clothes.

Charlie, feeling as if he'd just been compared to a delivery pizza, fumed for a moment before shrugging out of his black jacket and button-up dress shirt. He quickly pulled the red shirt over his curly head. He couldn't help but think the cotton material carried the scent of home. Disregarding the thought, Charlie changed jeans and, feeling cold, put the hoodie on as well as the new pair of sneakers. He was lacing them up when Rick opened the backseat door and poked his head in.

"Done yet, Sherlock?" the kidnapper asked.

He took Charlie's discarded clothing and shoes and left Charlie in the backseat. A few minutes later, both kidnappers slid into the car. Jacob pulled back onto the road, leaving a pile of clothes to burn in the sand.

The doors automatically locked. The handcuffs were reattached. As Charlie stared sullenly out the window, Rick reached over, took a hold of Charlie's gray hood, and jerked it up over the professor's head.

"If another car happens to go by, don't make eye contact," Rick ordered, even though the windows were tinted.

"Sure," Charlie agreed, keeping his attention on the world outside the car. As he stared at the desert, the falling night seemed to get inside of him. Charlie imagined his father and Don already dead, but just as quickly, his mind conjured up images of Alan worrying about him, of Don searching for him.

He thought of Amita. He thought of Larry.

Don would find him if he kept himself alive.

He thought of Colby, Megan, and David.

Don's team would find him.

His part was to stay alive, to do what he could to help Don find him. There was no doubt in his mind that Don would find him. Not yet.

**Miles up the road, in a roadside motel, Margo waited. She'd driven ahead, taking off right after leaving class earlier that day. Since checking in she'd endured her time in the cramped little room by almost obsessively checking the mirror to make sure her hair, clothes, and makeup were still in perfect order.**

**A text from Jacob assured the anxious young woman that her wait was almost over. Soon they would be there to pick her up.**

Margo slipped the contacts on, turning her blue irises into a warm almond color. She smiled and parted her dyed brown hair the way Dr. Ramanujan often did, a little to the side.

_I can see why he likes this. I look better this way,_ she thought, admiring herself in the mirror.

Her heart burned with excitement. In less than an hour, she would be with Charlie. Then she could explain everything.


	4. Gift

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Numb3rs.

* * *

UFO

Creepy

Ratio

Underfoot

Parasite

**Consider Yourself Adopted 4/10**

* * *

"One more thing, Dad," Don said, sitting down for the first time since he'd entered the house's cozy den half an hour ago. "Do you remember what Charlie was wearing? You did see him this morning, before he headed out to CalSci, right?"

Alan nodded. He felt old and heavy on the couch, as if he were becoming a stone statue. "I'm sorry, Don. We ate breakfast, but I—No, I don't remember what your brother was wearing. He was just, y'know, dressed like Charlie."

From the recliner, Larry watched the exchange. He couldn't stop thinking of his friend, possibly dead, possibly injured and alone with people capable of such a horrendous crime.

_And here we are, powerless to do anything remotely worthwhile without more data_, Larry thought, keeping his melancholy musings to himself.

"Don," Alan said, "Are you _sure _Charlie wasn't there?"

Don raked a hand through his hair. "No one will know for sure until the evidence is processed," he admitted, "but I told you, none of the victims were anything like Charlie, and trust me, I had a close look."

On the other side of Alan, Amita kept one of the older man's hands wrapped up in her own comforting grip.

"What about the blood you found on the fire escape? When will you know if it's Charlie's?" she asked.

"We'll have to wait on that, too," Don said, checking his phone.

"Dad, I've got to go, but listen—People are already on their way here. They're going to need to set up in case someone makes contact, you know, makes a demand or something," Don explained, getting up and shrugging back into his jacket. "Just let them walk you through it. Call me if you need me."

Heading out, Don glanced back at the two professors. He paused at the front door. "Either of you need a ride home?"

Amita tightened her grip on Alan's calloused hand. "I think we'll be here for a while," she said, trying to put some strength back into her voice.

"Keep us updated," Larry added. "Let us know if there's any way we can help."

Don nodded, leaving the house and hustling to get in his car and on the move. He needed to be with the team.

**Elsewhere, a sleek car silently drove the long stretch of I-59 North.**

It surprised him when Jacob took a hard exit off the interstate. Feeling the sharp turn of the car, Charlie sat up from the slouch he'd sunken into and started paying attention. He focused on his surroundings, ignoring the dull pain that still persisted in his head.

_Where are we going? _

He'd been so sure they were heading for Las Vegas, or worse, McCarron International. The car drifted down a sand-swept road for a few minutes. Charlie watched Jacob guide the Mercedes into the broken up lot of a dumpy little roadside motel.

Jacob parked the car next a black van. It was larger than the one Charlie remembered being shoved into earlier that day, and it did not appear to have a sliding door. Instead, twin doors were on its back. There were no windows for the backseat. The vehicle appeared to be strictly for transporting things, not people.

Jacob yanked the keys from the ignition. He unlocked the doors and heaved himself from the car, rocking the Mercedes as his weight was removed and he headed off towards the motel.

A bright neon sign reading THE OASIS ghosted the parking lot in an eerie, subtle glow. Charlie noticed that there were only a few cars present, and all of them were parked on the other side of the lot, closer to the motel's check-in office. Only the Mercedes and the black van were parked on the far side.

While Charlie considered the dismal odds of finding help at the motel, Rick finished a text and got out of the car. He quickly swung his assault rifle's strap over a shoulder and moved around the vehicle to open the professor's door.

"All right, Charlie," Rick began, "it's time to switch rides again. Here's the bright side, though—this time you won't be in a trunk. Isn't that nice?"

Charlie slid out of the backseat with his hands still cuffed. Immediately Rick clamped a large gloved hand on his shoulder and steered the younger man towards the black van. Keeping his grip on Charlie, Rick opened one of the twin doors that granted access to the back of the vehicle.

Charlie could see very little of its interior. However, he saw enough to tell that the front of the van was sealed off from the back. He thought he saw a small rectangular place, probably a window, that allowed the front seat passengers to check on the contents of the back part of the van, but he wasn't sure about this either.

Rick removed the handcuffs. "You gonna get yourself in there? Need some help, Professor?"

"I can do it," Charlie said, his voice a little shaky, but he was more than happy to get away from Rick's bruising grip. He reached with his freed hands and lifted himself up, the hood falling back from his curly head as he climbed onto the cool metal flooring. The door was slammed shut, leaving the young professor alone in the dark. Charlie twisted around in the darkness. Not even a trace of light managed to invade the absolute blackness that greeted him.

Immediately, Charlie felt panic rising in his chest. His heart began to squeeze, and he felt the dark push against his skin. Unable to stay still in the complete darkness, Charlie walked towards the front of the van, where before he'd seen the little rectangular panel. His groping fingers found it. He'd been right; it_ was_ a small window, but it was closed and could only be opened from the front seats.

_What kind of vehicle is this?_

_Today just keeps getting better and better_, he thought worriedly, sliding down to sit against the van wall. He figured if he sat directly beneath the window Rick and Jacob wouldn't be able to see him. Beyond the van he heard the muffled sounds of car doors shutting and an engine coming to life. He heard the Mercedes pull away.

Charlie closed his eyes, not liking the cold, quiet dark of the van, or the anxiety that threatened to overwhelm him.

**He didn't like being trapped in a dark place. He'd been locked in the dark once before, by a girl named Janie Hatfield.**

* * *

"_Let me out!" Charlie said, on the other side of the door, but Janie shook her head full of red ringlets vehemently._

"_No! You won't share. Momma says if someone won't share they go in time out," she explained in a heated voice. Her glare could have melted the door and the boy confined behind it. She was tired of this! So tired of Charlie Eppes getting to use stuff everyone else couldn't use. _

"_Only adults can put kids in time out," Charlie said, and then added, "Let! Me! Out! Or I'll tell on you!"_

"_I'll tell on you for not sharing!" she shot back._

"_I can't share," he said, his voice a tad desperate. Inside the narrow closet, Charlie battled against the darkness. He could imagine a hole opening up beneath his feet and himself dropping down to a place where there were monsters already reaching up to grab him. Things could already be crawling up and down the walls. He couldn't see to tell. Instead his vision swarmed with twisting afterimages of things he'd seen throughout the day, and they alone were enough to frighten him._

"_I told you before," he insisted, "first graders aren't supposed to have colored pencils 'cause they're so sharp, but my gifted teacher gave me permission to bring them. We use them to color code the equations. I don't really need to but Mom likes it. She puts the really colorful ones on the refrigerator."_

_He listened. The fiery retort he expected did not come. _

"_Janie?"_

_His leg bumped against something stringy, foul and damp and Charlie gasped. It was a mop. The monsters were just beneath his feet, already reaching. Their nails scratched beneath the tile. If the floor didn't disappear, well, they would break through it to get him. _

_Charlie started banging on the wooden door._

"_Janie!"_

* * *

**There were two factors that drew Don to the custodian's closet. One, it was on the sixth grade hall where practically all of his classes were. Two, there was a group of kids, ranging all sizes and ages, standing around watching the door. When they saw Don coming, they shuffled off (or at least, that's what Don would tell Charlie later that day, while their parents were speaking with the principal).**

Charlie lost track of time, but it was less than an hour before the door opened again. Light flooded the interior and Charlie recoiled from it. He'd become so accustomed to the dark that the long bar of light running across the van's ceiling shocked his eyes into squeezing shut and hiding behind his hands. By the time he uncovered his face, the door had already been slammed shut again. The van was being cranked, and he could feel the vehicle rolling over uneven pavement, probably back to the interstate.

He felt the car sweep back up the ramp and onto even ground, gaining speed.

But Charlie barely paid attention. His eyes were on a young woman with brown eyes and long chestnut hair. She was dressed in jeans, heels, and a pretty white blouse that showed off both of her shoulders. She held a designer purse, her hands were not handcuffed, and she looked familiar.

Cautiously the kidnapped mathematician began to stand.

"No, please don't get up," the woman quickly said, motioning with her hands.

Hesitantly, Charlie sat back down. He kept his attention riveted to her.

"I can see you're hurt. Are you okay, Charlie?" she asked, confusing him with her concern just as much as her presence.

She carefully walked across the floor of the moving van and eased herself down to sit beside him.

Charlie's legs were stretched out and crossed at his ankles, but the girl sat with her legs curled beside her, facing him.

"It's _me_. Margo," she reminded, resting a reassuring hand on his arm.

Charlie tensed from the contact. His eyes watched her face for clues."...Margo?"

A nervous smile tinged her lips. She was blushing a little. "Yes. Margo Sumner."

_Margo Sumner? _Charlie stared at her blankly, and then at once, his memory came through.

_She's... She's one of my students. _

_She's alive!_

**She was a gift.**

One of them, at least_ one_ of those precious young people, had escaped Rick's deathtrap.

_But how? _he wondered, looking at her smiling face in disbelief. The answer followed the question quickly. Perhaps Rick had intercepted Margo leaving his class, and planned on using her as _motivation_, just as he'd been threatening Larry and Amita all day. It didn't matter. She was alive! And Charlie would make sure she stayed that way until his brother found them.

"Margo," Charlie said in a hushed voice, but he couldn't help the excited relief he felt. "What happened? When did they get you? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Charlie," she said affectionately. "Is your head okay?"

He reached up, feeling the bandage around his forehead. He'd forgotten about it.

"It's just a scratch. It's nothing but a headache, really," he assured her.

Then something buzzed, and Charlie's eyes widened as the subject of his whirling thoughts released his arm and checked her cellphone.

At first he couldn't speak. He couldn't believe his luck, but finally, after ten seconds of watching her calmly read a text message, the words came.

"You have a _phone!?_" Charlie marveled at the slim device settled in her palm. "Margo, this is great! You've called the police, right? Do they know where we are?"

She shook her head, "Of course not."

_Of course not? _Charlie's forehead wrinkled. Then the answer came to him.

_She must be afraid of what these goons'll do to her if law enforcement arrives, _he reasoned.

Smiling to comfort her, Charlie said, "Margo, I know what's happening to us is, well, terrifying, but if you still have your phone, than these people must not realize it yet. We can call my brother. He works for the FBI. Look, his team is amazing. Trust me, he'll get us out of this before anything bad happens, but we need to call him_ right now_. He might not even know I'm missing yet."

He kept his voice low as he spoke, worried that Rick or whoever was driving the van might be listening.

Margo grew very still. She regarded Charlie, giving him an intense look that made the professor feel uncomfortable. She hesitated before she spoke.

"Charlie... I'm sorry, but you can't use my phone." She met his eyes, and he was taken aback by the shame in them. "I'm so, so sorry for the way they've been treating you, that you got hurt. You weren't supposed to be injured, Professor."

"What?" He laughed, a little nervous. "Margo, you're not seriously blaming yourself, are you? None of this is your fault. These people did this to get to _me_."

Her fingers tightened around her phone as she nodded. "I know, but you were hurt because something in_ my_ calculations must have been off," she admitted, frowning deeply. "Rick told me you were hit by debris, but still... I thought I'd figured out the perfect places to position the bombs. You shouldn't have been hit at all."

She sighed. "I'm just glad you weren't blinded or... or something _really_ bad."

**She shivered, not appreciating the thought of her curly-haired professor being disfigured or maimed because of her own inadequate math.**

Charlie's mind stumbled. It failed to understand.

Feeling lost, the mathematician looked at her, _really _looked at her.

"What do you mean 'the perfect places'?" he almost whispered. The relief he'd begun to feel was steadily draining away, leaving only uncertainty and worry in its wake. He glanced at her phone.

Margo's face darkened as she scowled to herself. "I still can't believe they put you in a _trunk_. That's almost worst. They_ shouldn't_ have done that. I'll get Daddy to cut their pay, I promise. They didn't take this seriously enough. They know how important you are, and if they forgot, I'll make sure the width of their wallets reminds them."

She looked at him, but Charlie was too shocked to reply. His mind was reeling with information that threatened to overwhelm him.

_She knows Rick and Jacob._

_Her "daddy" is paying them to kidnap me._

_Her dad, she's... She made calculations... She knows about the bombs... __She's..._

Charlie's wary eyes strayed from her face to the phone, and then back to her eyes. He swallowed, becoming aware of his increasing heart rate.

_This is crazy. This is...!_

"Margo, I need to call Don. I need to talk to my brother," Charlie tried again, desperation creeping into his voice. _She helped them... She made calculations..._

"No, Charlie," she said, and there was a warning in her tone. Her whole demeanor abruptly shifted. The thin scowl remained fixed to her pretty face. "I'm not letting you tell him where to come and find you. _Don't_ ask again."

Charlie stared at her. "Excuse me?"

"If you ask again, I'll scream," she continued, watching hard to see if he was listening. "If I scream, Rick will pull this van over and call _my_ big brother," Margo explained, "and hes right outside _your_ house. He's positioned there in case you make a mistake, Professor. It's the best way to keep you from running away, or hurting me."

She held up a finger inches from his face. "Make one mistake like that and I'll scream. He won't miss, Charlie. He never does and he _never_ gets caught._ You'll_ still be with us, but your father? Professor Ramanujan? They'll be _dead," _she said, with a poisoned sort of glee.

"Do you understand, Charlie?"

_Do you need some motivation, Professor?_

Charlie could hardly breathe, much less think coherently. Instead of anything helpful, all his brilliant mind could imagine was glass splintering and then Alan dropping to the floor, an oozing hole in the center of his forehead. Before he could stop himself, he imagined the same thing happening to Don. Then Amita.

Margo saw the confusion and fear. The pain. Even anger. It was written all over him.

Was he freaking out? Margo titled her head to the side, curious. She'd never seen Charlie terribly upset before.

His brown eyes were beseeching. "You don't have to hurt my father, or anyone else."

Margo nodded. "No, we don't. It's really up to you, Charlie. It seems cruel, but you have to understand it from our perspective. Using your loved ones is simply the most effective way to ensure your cooperation."

Margo flipped open her phone and showed Charlie a text from someone named Greg. It simply read:

_FBI. TSIS._

"FBI present. Target Still In Sight," Margo explained, her voice calm, as if she were talking to a student. "This is the text my brother sent a few minutes ago to let me know that the FBI's at your house. I'm showing it to you so you'll know I'm not making this up. Please don't force my hand in this, Charlie. I don't _want_ to hurt you, but I will."

"If you hurt my father," Charlie began, "if you hurt Larry or Amita, or _anyone_—"

"Shh, shh," she urged, putting her phone away. Her honey-eyes softened even further, almost pleaded with him to slow down, to listen. "Don't be upset. I promise they'll be okay if you calm down."

Margo knew she had the upper hand.

"You_ have_ to calm down," she said, eyes searching his. "You have to understand that I did this for you, Charlie. For us. We're meant to be together."

He wasn't having it. Charlie shook his curly head, blocking her words out. He ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"How were you able to pull this off? _Who are you?_" Charlie gestured in agitation towards the front seat. "Your brother's outside my house? Are these thugs family, too?"

"Not strictly speaking," Margo said. Her face tightened. "And they're not_ thugs_. They're part of the Sumner family, Charlie. They've worked for us for years. I've known Jacob all my life and Rick, he's been with us for a long time, too. Daddy sent them to set up the explosives and seal the doors, and to rescue you of course. If it wasn't for Rick you'd be dead, so _d__on't_ call them names, okay?"

"Okay," Charlie replied, his outrage momentarily overriding his fear, "but tell me this. Tell me, why murder a classroom full of innocent people who _never_ wished you any harm? Margo, you could have had your friends grab me off the street, or my office, or even the classroom without hurting anyone! Those precious lives. Can you even begin to imagine the suffering they felt? That their families will feel?"

Margo did not hesitate. "I don't care about their families, Charlie. I burned them because I hated them. I always burn the things I hate. They were disgusting, a waste of your time and attention. They did not deserve to be at CalSci."

"They were brilliant young men and women," Charlie said heatedly. "They had bright futures ahead of them."

"Yeah, as FBI case studies," Margo sneered. She grinned viciously at the shock on his face. Apparently she was being too flippant for the professor. Margo thought it was sweet that he cared. Misguided, but sweet.

"You're crazy," Charlie said, unable to stop himself.

Margo stiffened. The grin dropped from her face.

"No, Charlie. No, I am not. And you should not ever think that again," she warned. Her eyes lost all warmth as she glared at him, appraising him to see if he would comply.

"That would be a mistake," she added seriously.

_Good job, Charlie. Do you _want_ Dad to get shot? _he silently berated himself. Ticking off an insane woman would get him nowhere good. Charlie took a shallow breath. He couldn't let his mouth give her an excuse. He had to calm down and stay in control.

_Focus. Be like Don, _he told himself, and was comforted at the thought of his brother.

Charlie met her eyes. "Okay. I'm sorry. ...Just, don't hurt my Dad, okay?"

Margo smiled. The fear was back in his eyes, and she liked it.

"Let's just change the subject," she offered, and he gave a quick nod.

"Charlie," she began, "have you ever seen a person on fire?"

_This is her idea of conversation? _Charlie shook his head slightly, watching her warily.

"It's like some kind of magic. It's _elegant. _I wish I could have been there to see it dancing all over the room, to see it surrounding you. Maybe someday," she said wistfully.

His alarmed expression made her laugh.

"Oh love, please don't look at me like that! I would never let the fire touch you, Charlie," Margo assured, reaching out to stroke his face. "I love you _so_ much. It almost hurts."

Her fingers brushed against his cheek and immediately Charlie recoiled, shifting away from her until the corner of the van stopped him. Moving there hardly created more than a two-foot space between them, but he needed to get _away_, out from under her eyes and her hands, and the feeling she brought. She made him feel like the world was shrinking. She made him feel helpless and _he hated it._

Her gaze followed every inch of him. "Charlie, you need to be still. You have a head injury, remember?"

Charlie laughed nervously, crossing his arms to hug himself. He was stuck in a van with a homicidal maniac who _loved _him as much as she loved burning innocent people of all things.

"I think I have bigger problems than a head injury," he said. _If I try to get away, they'll shoot Dad. What can I do? There has to be something!_

"Charlie," Margo said, slowly closing the gap between them. "We're going to be together. The quicker you accept that, the better off Alan and Don will be."

"Don't say their names like you know them," he replied, dark eyes darting a glare at her.

"But I feel like I do," she said honestly. She was so close her thigh pressed into his leg. He could feel her breath on his neck.

Charlie knew arguing with her would get him absolutely nowhere, so he opted instead to get as much information from her as possible. He sighed, not sure he really wanted to know, but he had to ask:

"Can you at least tell me what's going to happen to me?"

"Well," Margo cleared her throat, and he sensed she'd been waiting for this. She clasped her hands together in her lap, her fingers brushing against his arm. "We actually have a lot of work to do. You see, Charlie, I've finally convinced Daddy that you're worth it."

Charlie held his head. His racing heart had increased his headache tenfold. His voice was stressed. "Worth _what_?"

"Worth bringing into the family," Margo said, as if it were obvious. She laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He tensed, but did not move away. There was no where left to go short of getting up, and a movement like that could give her the excuse to scream.

She relished the feel of him beneath her fingers. "We have operations all over California and quite a few in Nevada, but we've run into a major problem. I've convinced him you can help."

Charlie rubbed his temples, pushing the bandage around his head up. "And if I refuse?"

"You won't," she said, giving him a knowing smile that he didn't acknowledge. "You'll do what he says to keep Dr. Ramanujan and your family safe. Believe me, Daddy knows how to get people to do what he wants."

"I can see that the apple didn't fall far from the tree," Charlie said, his voice quiet and bitter.

"It won't be so bad, Charlie. It's just math," she said, laughing a little. "To make a long, _long_ story short, Daddy's been having a hard time with our finances. You see, several of his business partners have disappeared over the last few years. You know, arrested or gunned down by the feds? Among other things... Daddy wasn't upset over their deaths per say. It's just that losing partnerships puts gaps in his web."

"His web?"

She nodded. "Daddy likes to think of the syndicate's operations as a big spider web. Every time he loses a partner, or the feds shut down one of our major operations, say a prostitute hole, it damages something he's worked his whole life to build."

As Margo spoke, Charlie imagined a giant spider-web spanning across a map of California and Nevada. As points on the shimmering web disappeared, sections of it fell away, which in turn weakened the overall network of the web and threatened the spider's stability.

Margo released his shoulder and dug through her purse until she found a small composition notebook. She fanned through the pages and Charlie glimpsed equations scrawled throughout.

"Since January I've been working on a program that will help the family pay off our debts. Daddy's had to borrow some pretty large sums to pay off our lenders. The Italians in particular are giving him a cold shoulder, but if I can get this program to run correctly, Daddy will have the money he needs to pay off all of the family's debts, and _we'll _be back in the business of being the lenders instead of the borrowers once again. I need your help to finish it, Charlie. Together we can make it perfect. You're so smart. Smarter than me even. I know you can make it work. I've told Daddy and the family all about you. They've been watching you all year and they've come to believe in you, too," she said brightly.

_They've been watching _us_, she means. Not just me, but Dad and Don, Larry... Amita. Maybe everyone I associate with._

"And if I refuse to help with whatever this program is," he added, the heat surfacing in his voice once more, "something bad will happen to my loved ones, correct?"

Margo frowned. "Charlie, I know it seems harsh, but it's how things in my world work. If you need something, you take it. If you aren't powerful enough to take it, then you go without. We might be losing money, but we're still strong enough to take what we need."

"I didn't ask to work in your world," he reminded her, a quiet edge still in his voice.

"I know," Margo admitted. "Most people who end up working for families like mine don't volunteer in the beginning. Sometimes life hits them hard, and working with us becomes their only choice. But Charlie, we _chose_ you._ I_ chose you. I know it'll be difficult at first, while you're learning to let go of... you know, your old life, but I also know you'll come to accept us. Someday you'll stay by choice, and then we won't have to threaten your father or those other people."

"You don't have to threaten them now," Charlie told her. "I'm here, aren't I? You can leave them alone."

She shook her head. "Not until the program's finished."

"Then I can go home?"

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head again. "No, you can't. You can never go home. We'd have to kill you. But don't worry about something like that happening. No one wants to kill you. The program's just the first step. Together, you and I, we can make the family enough money that none of us will ever have to worry about debts again. Everyone's excited about it, Charlie. They know I love you. They can't wait to meet you. Especially my father. If I can't persuade you, he definitely can."

_That sounds like something to look forward to, _Charlie thought, imagining every mafia torture scene he'd ever seen on TV.

Margo pulled a small wallet-sized photo album from her purse. She flipped through its few pages and selected a picture to show Charlie.

"This is my father, Carlisle," she explained, full of affection. "He's an incredible businessman. He graduated from Harvard," she added proudly.

Charlie leaned forward, interested to finally see this "boss" he'd heard so much about. The man looked wealthy. Carlisle's eyes were green behind his square, thin-framed glasses. His blonde hair was slicked over his scalp, revealing the slight recession of his hairline. Charlie couldn't help but think his arms looked entirely too large beneath the dark sleeves of his dapper business suit. He wasn't as tall as Rick, but the man was definitely as muscular.

_Bet they all played football in high school, _Charlie thought, making a sour face at the photograph. The Margo in the picture seemed way too tiny beside her father's hulking frame, and she was barely shorter than Charlie. Charlie figured the man went through life looming over most people, and the mathematician would be no exception.

"He's a very powerful man, Charlie," Margo told him. "He's respected by the people who count. It's very important that you don't make him mad. I need him to like you."

Charlie's gaze drifted up from the small album in her hand. He swallowed and asked, "What exactly happens if he_ doesn't _like me?"

She gave him a grimacing smile. "He will, Charlie." Margo nodded to herself. "He has to."


	5. Luck

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Numb3rs.

* * *

UFO

Creepy

Ratio

Underfoot

Parasite

**Consider Yourself Adopted 5/10**

* * *

Minutes after Margo slipped her small, wallet-sized photo album away, both the graduate student and her acquired professor felt the black van's deceleration. The vehicle came to a gentle stop and Charlie turned his questioning gaze to Margo for an explanation.

"Are we… wherever we're going?"

Digging in her designer purse, Margo shook her head. "No. It's much too soon."

A door slammed and Charlie flinched. He sighed, irritated at his own jumpiness, but Margo bit back a laugh. She grinned to herself as she kept searching her purse. She was used to seeing Confident Charlie. It was one of the many traits that had attracted her to him, but this edgy, cautious side of him warmed her heart.

"It's okay," she assured, pausing to look him in the eyes. "It's probably Rick."

She resumed pawing through the contents of her purse. "And if I know Rick, he's going to smoke a cigarette and then burst in here demanding I move up front. He probably can't stand that I'm alone with you. He doesn't trust you, Charlie. Not like I do. Don't get me wrong, though. He only cares because if I get hurt his precious paycheck will suffer for it."

Margo rolled her eyes.

"As if Charlie would hurt me…" she mumbled, plucking a rolled up cloth from her purse. Her face brightened with relief. She glanced at Charlie as she unrolled the cloth, revealing a capped syringe. As she expected, he didn't look too thrilled to see it.

"I told Rick I'd take care of this," she said. "He told me you didn't like it last time, so I told him I would handle it."

Margo picked the cap off the syringe's needle. She shifted beside Charlie, rising to her knees so that she'd be in a better position to safely inject him, but the moment her hand raised Charlie leaned away from her. He regarded her warily.

"Margo, I've already given you my compliance," Charlie tried, keeping his voice diplomatic. "You know I'm not going to jeopardize my dad or Don, or anyone else you've threatened to have killed. I'm not going anywhere. …Can't we just skip the slumber drugs and handcuff me again?"

Margo bit her lip. On one hand, she wanted to show Charlie that she was on his side. She wasn't the bad guy. She loved him for Christ's sake! But on the other hand, she needed to do this before Rick finished smoking, opened the doors, and caught her struggling to make Charlie cooperate. She had to prove she was fully capable of keeping him under control, too. Otherwise, it'd take forever for the family to let them be alone together.

She could hear Rick's muffled voice outside. He was on his cell, or else talking to Jacob. She had to hurry. Her attention returned to Charlie.

_Don't let him manipulate you with those big brown eyes, _she told herself, inwardly smiling. Her Charlie was so handsome. She had to stop herself from getting too wrapped up in watching him. Now just wasn't the time. Instead, she forced a serious look.

"Don't argue with me, Charlie," Margo warned. "The only other option is to let Rick put you in one of his Kung-Fu choke holds, and I'd rather avoid that—He could hurt you. He's a professional, but even he can get carried away. Believe me. He'd love to 'accidentally' put you in a wheelchair."

"I think," the mathematician said, avoiding her heavy, _constant_ gaze by focusing on his fingers, "that I'd rather take my chances then have another unidentified drug in my bloodstream."

She scowled. "Charlie, I'm not going to be drawn into a debate about this. Either by my hand or Rick's, it's happening. You're going to sleep and this is how you're going. There's no point in making it into a big deal. Look at you. You obviously need rest. Besides, don't you think it'd be better to sleep through the rest of this trip rather than stay awake and worry about things? Haven't we told you over and over again that you're not going to be hurt?"

Margo saw that he was unconvinced, so she added meanly, "What's more important to you, Professor? Keeping Alan alive or getting your way right now? I thought you loved your family."

Charlie's responding glare was so hateful that it made Margo feel ugly. She couldn't stand seeing those beautiful eyes, usually so expressive with the spark of intelligence, brimming with sheer animosity. She almost withered, almost apologized, but then Margo steeled herself. He had to understand that she wasn't bluffing. He was part of a world now where death was exchanged as easily as salt around a dinner table. It was nothing to have his father murdered or his brother killed. Even in terms of cost such murders meant nothing since Margo's own brother was the assassin. Killing Alan Eppes or Dr. Ramanujan was parallel to her brother completing a chore for their father. In their family, you didn't get paid for taking out the trash.

With this knowledge in mind, Margo matched his glare with her own, almost daring him to push the issue. In fact, the longer he held her gaze, the more she _wanted_ him to make a mistake.

Charlie saw the madness and determination in her eyes. It was so evident. It almost took his breath away. Margo looked like any other well-dressed grad student, but she was a monster. Even if he did cooperate, what was to stop her from killing his loved ones _anyway? _The realization was terrifying.

The heat faded from his gaze, lending him a lost expression that Margo instantly liked. He looked wounded and sad, and thus to her, extremely appealing. She wanted to throw her arms around him, to comfort him.

But Charlie looked away.

"Fine," he huffed, with tired acceptance.

"I just want you to be safe, Charlie," Margo insisted, her own heart beating hard. "Hold still. This is the last time today. I promise."

The sharp needle pricked his neck, and just like earlier that day, Charlie felt the drug's effects within minutes. Whatever it was the drug presented the sensation of being dragged, pushed down, as if gravity were slowly increasing all around him. It was like being softly crushed. The more he resisted, the heavier the air surrounding him became. He worried about his lungs collapsing under so much weight.

_They're killing me, Don. _

Margo put the syringe away and watched as her professor's fingers clenched in his curly hair. His eyes squeezed shut. He drew up his knees, his whole body tensing for a few minutes before it began to relax.

In all her time watching Charlie, she'd never seen him so close to falling asleep.

It was positively endearing. Liberating even. Finally, Margo found herself able to watch Charlie without worrying about interference. She didn't have to be concerned about nosy people perceiving the attention she devoted to him—about _him_ noticing. About being labeled a _stalker. _Not ever again.

_I don't have to hide how much I love him anymore. _

Margo smiled, so happy that she felt close to tears. She'd been so anxious, so many times, that someday she'd suddenly run out of opportunities to see Charlie. She'd worried about him moving away or getting hurt. She'd had nightmares about his stupid fed brother getting him killed. Now the family would keep him safe. Now she could keep him in sight forever.

"How long do you think it'll take them to figure out we're not human barbecue like the others?" she asked, wanting to gauge if he were still conscious.

His eyes were closed. His thoughts were slow, and he was acutely aware of the large bruise he'd gotten on his side when Rick had hauled him out of a trunk earlier.

Still, he couldn't help but tell her, "My brother, his team… they are the _best _at what they do. They're going to figure this out."

"Maybe, but you'll help us escape them," she replied, reaching to touch his bowed head. The dark mass of curly hair felt so soft beneath her hand.

He felt her fingers curling and playing gently with his hair, but his whole body felt too heavy to move in reaction.

He was falling asleep.

There was no way to stop it.

"You know you have to help me get away with everything before they get too close," Margo said. "If anything, you should hope that they never even try. It would be really bad for them."

Charlie collapsed into the nest of his arms.

A chain was pulled free. The rear doors swung open, and Rick hauled himself up into the back of the van. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted in with him. Margo's nose wrinkled, but she didn't comment on the odor. Nothing could tear her gaze away from Charlie.

"Hello, Princess," Rick said, eyes assessing them both. "Everything okay? Sherlock here doesn't strike me as the violent type, but it still doesn't seem right letting you ride back here. The old man wouldn't like it either. Plus you're wasting gas keepin' this light on."

He pointed at the ceiling's flickering light. "You're gonna have to relocate."

Margo kept stroking Charlie's hair. Her smile was peaceful. She'd never felt so content. Touching him was a million times better than just watching him.

"I'm fine back here. Greg's just a phone call away. Charlie knows that."

"Still, you gotta move up front before we hit the city, so you might as well do it now. I'm not risking Carlisle finding out you were in a position to get hurt. He'd cut my pay," Rick explained.

When she didn't make a move, Rick crossed over and knelt before Charlie. He grabbed the professor by the shoulders and leaned him back against the van wall so he could see Charlie's face.

Margo's eyes watched Rick closely. Her fingers curled in Charlie's hair.

"What are you doing?" she asked icily.

"I need to check him," Rick replied. "Back off and give me some space."

When she hesitated, he added, "You want him to get some kind of infection? Oh you don't? Then back off_, _Princess. Let me do my job."

Margo stiffly got to her feet. She crossed her arms and hovered over them, watching Rick's every move.

Pinning Charlie against the wall, Rick's other gloved hand gripped the mathematician's jaw, turning it this way and that as he examined the younger man's pallor and half-lidded gaze.

"He looks sick," the kidnapper muttered, "but it's just the Svenithsom. I had this one guy tell me once that it's like having that mono virus. Idiot was shooting up and accidentally injected himself with it. Guess it's no surprise the same guy's the one who blew himself up opening his own mail bomb," Rick said with a laugh.

Margo's brow furrowed. "I gave Charlie the whole dose. I wanted him to sleep, not ride around by himself in the dark feeling sick. I think he really needs to rest. He looks exhausted."

Rick snorted and tugged off the bandage that encircled Charlie's head. "He'll go to sleep eventually. Sure he's awake right now, but he's not going to remember much of it. If you wanted the guy under general anesthesia you should have said so. This is just a sedative."

Margo shook her head. "No, this is fine. I don't want anything that could potentially put his life in danger."

"Because blowing up a room with him inside was safe on _what _scale?" Rick joked, grinning as he pushed Charlie's hair back. He checked the thin wound just beneath the professor's hairline.

Margo's hawk-like gaze followed Rick's hands. Her tone was defensive. "I knew he'd be safe. I knew he'd be right where you found him. My calculations were perfect in that regard. Admit it, you couldn't believe it when you strolled in, saw him there, and _knew _that I was right."

Rick refolded the bandage so that a clean side would be pressing against the professor's wound. It would have to do until they could get the guy better first aid. He then eased the smaller man down until Charlie was lying on the ground rather than crumpled against the van's interior wall.

"Lucky for him Jacob's driving," Rick said, standing up and heading for the van's exit. His footsteps were loud in the almost empty cavity of the van. "I'd have the poor guy slinging all over this place. We'd have to go get you another genius."

Margo cast Charlie a worried glance before following Rick. He helped her step down from the van and into the desert night.

The doors were shut and locked. Soon the light would be switched off.

It bothered her, knowing that Charlie was alone and in the dark, and conscious about it, even if he wouldn't remember much later. The more she thought about it, the more Margo felt a terrible ache in her chest. It was hard to be separated after having been so close to him.

She placed a palm against the cool black exterior of the van's doors.

"Can't he ride in my BMW?"

"You mean the trunk?" Rick smirked.

Margo scowled. "The _backseat_. With me, of course."

Rick shook his head. "We've been over this. Your windows aren't tinted enough. Do you have any idea of how many traffic cams there are going to be once we hit the city? Plus it's only a matter of time until the feds figure out that not only is he not dead, but _you're _not dead, Princess. They're going to be looking for you. The first thing they'll want to find is your car, so we left it at the motel."

Margo whirled to face him, her face flushing red. "You _left_ my car?"

"In flames," he added. "I figured being such a little pyro queen you'd appreciate that part at least. Jacob took care of it after he handled the Mercedes. Too bad. I liked that Mercedes."

She gave him a dark look, her slender arms crossing.

"I'm telling my father," she threatened. "Do you have any idea how much a BMW even costs? And that car was a gift from my mother!"

"Sure, tell your dad. Go ahead," Rick sneered. "It was the old man's suggestion in the first place. Look, Princess. 'Daddy' already went and bought you a math professor. You know it won't take much to convince him to buy you a new ride, so stop being a brat and come on. Get in the front."

"But…" Margo pouted and turned her eyes back to the van. "Charlie…"

Her crossed arms and surly face made Rick want to punch her right in the fake nose.

"Sherlock's fine. We're switching to_ my_ car in the city anyway. Jacob's gotta take this van over to help move some merchandise. You can snuggle up to Charlie then, all right?"

"Fine," Margo growled, casting an angry glare towards the stars above, "but if he gets hurt again, I'll make sure you don't get away with it."

"I mean it, Rick. You won't get a _dime_ for this job if I'm not satisfied," she swore haughtily before stomping off towards the front passenger seat. The door slammed after her even though she knew Rick would have to get in beside her, since Jacob was driving.

Rick smiled, rolling his shoulders.

_I really can't stand that little bitch._

**Almost two hours later the beautiful nightscape of Las Vegas loomed on the horizon. An array of lights passed over the sleek surface of Rick's black Dodge. He drove in silence, his eyes occasionally checking the rearview mirror to see Margo's smug face either looking down at the seat or staring wistfully out the tinted window. ****Rick glanced at the car's clock. Charlie needed to be in Carlisle's office in less than twenty minutes. It wasn't a very comfortable window, considering traffic, but Rick knew he'd make it. Luck was always on his side, especially in this city.**

He'd never felt so tired in his life. He wanted to get up. He felt he should get up, but Charlie just couldn't bring himself to carry through with it.

His sluggish thoughts connected enough sensory information to tell him that Amita's fingers were running through his hair and that he rested against her soft thigh. Somewhere on the fringes of his consciousness, he felt a little guilty about snoozing with her there. Was he on the couch? Had they been watching a movie? Charlie decided not to feel too bad about it. If she _really_ needed his attention surely she'd wake him up.

It was so nice, her hand combing through his hair.

**Don walked into the room alone. They had worked all night, splitting apart and coming together several times as they gathered information and processed evidence. Fueled by coffee, the team was still going even as the sun came up in Los Angeles. It was time for them to come together again. Don was the first to reach the room, but he knew his team would join him soon.**

Maps of CalSci were still displayed on the room's large, flat screened monitors, but Don's eyes were drawn to the pictures that covered a pegboard beneath one of the giant screens. He approached the board, taking in the pictures that cluttered its surface. The photos were of those who had died in Charlie's classroom. Their bodies were blackened with crackles of bright pink. Their skin seemed shriveled to the bone and it was difficult for Don to tell what was flesh and what was clothes in some of the images. Beside most of the enlarged crime scene photographs, small headshots of healthy looking young people were attached, providing grisly before and after identification of the bodies.

Don could not imagine seeing his little brother's picture up there, pinned beneath one of those many images of suffering and death. He couldn't see a small picture of Charlie, curly-haired and giving the camera a brown-eyed smile, posted by either of the two still unidentified corpses.

He tore his gaze away.

It landed on another pegboard, which was on the other side of the room. This one was bedecked in pictures, too, but from another case. It featured a map detailing the Eastside Eyesnatcher's zone of familiarity, along with grotesque shots of dead women, all of which were eyeless. Because they were also missing their lips, their teeth seemed to protrude from the cavity of their mouths. Only the last victim, victim sixteen, wore a calm expression achievable merely by the fact that she still retained her lips. However, her eyes were emptied sockets.

Don felt like they were staring at him. He checked his watch, and looked to the transparent board that was shoved up against the wall beside the Eyesnatcher pegboard. Charlie's math was there. Weird combinations of letters, numbers, and other symbols were connected in long strands, some of which had arrows darting towards equations that floated off to the side as if they were afterthoughts.

**Don was staring at the numbers when his team entered the room. **

They swept in, coffee in hand, and began setting various stacks of folders and papers down on the room's only table. Colby deposited a clipboard and went straight to a computer, a disc and a jump-drive in his hand.

"Okay, so what we got? Anything new?" Don asked.

Colby nodded, speaking as he typed. "Yeah, Don. Forty-six are now officially confirmed dead. Thirty-two of those were in Charlie's classroom, the rest sustained fatal injuries from being outside in the hallway, or in the rooms that contained the bombs."

"The bombs themselves were professional military grade. Nothing homemade about them," David added, eyes scanning a diagram.

With a click of the mouse Colby changed the map on the largest monitor. It blinked and reappeared, this time with several red markers.

He gestured towards the map, directing Don's attention. "Look here. All of these represent roadblocks that were set up yesterday. LAPD says they were all bogus. Someone left cones, nail strips—anything and everything to persuade traffic to avoid the roads that have access to Charlie's building. Everything's been collected in hopes we can get some prints."

Don noticed that all of the red markers were to the left of the crime scene. "They only blocked off the rear of the building."

Megan nodded, leaning against the table. "Remember our theory that someone was taken down the stairs?"

Colby said, "We're working from the assumption that whoever did this closed off the roads to help cover their getaway, possibly with a victim."

"Okay. Good," Don said, liking where this was going. "We gotta have something more than roadblocks though. Any word from the lab on whose blood that was on the stairs?"

"Not yet. They've got the samples you picked up from Charlie's house though, Don," Megan assured. "It shouldn't be much longer. The lab's been busy helping us identify all these victims on top of all the other cases they're processing."

"The techs are still working through all of the surveillance videos that CalSci sent over to us," David said. "CalSci's security office has already confirmed that the fire alarms, sprinklers, and the security cameras were all shut off about an hour prior to the explosion, but we still have video from before that time and from the surrounding buildings on campus. The techs have been processing the surveillance videos from the moment we got our hands on them. They're still working, but Don, we know for a fact that Charlie was there."

"Yeah, look at this." Colby slipped the disc into the computer and brought up a file. He had it display on another one of the large monitors that hung from the walls.

Don looked at the screen, and saw a black and white, somewhat grainy video of students trickling up and down an impressive set of marble stairs. The viewpoint was from a high angle.

"There's Charlie," Colby said, pointing out the mathematician. As Charlie half-jogged up the sweeping stairs of Lynoll-Briggs Hall, he happened to glance up in the camera's direction. He vanished into the building seconds later.

_Black jacket. White shirt. Jeans. _"So he was definitely there," Don said, checking his watch and then focusing on the screen again.

"Yeah." Colby rewound the video, pausing it at the exact moment where Charlie glanced up at the camera. The team was quiet for a beat as they stared back at the image.

"It's weird isn't it?" Colby asked. "Almost like he's looking at us."

Don silently agreed.

"We've got more than that. Listen to this," David said. "The medical examiner confirmed nineteen of the victims in Charlie's room died from injuries caused by the blast, while thirteen died from gunshot wounds. Almost all of the bodies have been identified by the techs using CalSci's virtual student ID records. Last I checked there are only two bodies left to be identified and, Don, we know now that _both_ of those are female."

David tried not to smile, but he couldn't help it. "You get what I'm saying? We've all but confirmed that Charlie's not among the dead. Not inside or outside his classroom."

Don nodded.

He'd known that.

He'd believed that all along.

There was no way he'd been too late. No way he'd lost Charlie.

Still, he had to sit down. He found a chair by the table and sank into it, covering his face with both hands in shaky relief.

_He's not dead._

After a moment and deep breath, Don folded his hands under his chin, his elbows on his knees as he looked up at his team. Despite the gruesome pictures that surrounded them, they looked relieved.

"Do we know who the other victims are?" he asked.

"We have Diana Adams, Margo Sumner, and Amber Yi," Megan said, reading the names off a sheet of paper. "All three of them are the only people left unaccounted for on Charlie's class roster. There are only two bodies left to identify, so one of these three ladies either didn't make it to class yesterday or skipped out before the explosion."

"Or she's in on it," Don said, a little indignation creeping into his voice.

"We should know soon who the other two are. We're just waiting on their dental records," Colby said.

"Right," Don nodded, standing up with renewed energy. "Until then, let's keep digging up everything we can on these three girls. Megan's right. One of them's missing for a reason and we've got to track her down _right now_. Maybe the techs will come up with something on video to help us out. Whoever took Charlie might have blocked the roads, but there's no way they avoided every camera on that campus."

All of them were poised to move, but a thought struck him and Don held up a hand. He looked at each of them, meeting their eyes. He hoped they could see the appreciation in his own. Everyone in the room had been on the job for almost thirty-six hours. He could see the exhaustion eating at them. It was eating at him, too.

"Wait. Look guys, I know it's been a long night. If you need to get some rest first, I understand. I need you sharp and—"

Colby interrupted him. "You don't seriously expect us to go home right now, do you? This is Charlie we're talking about. Every minute counts."

"We're with you, man," David said. "He's your brother, but he's my friend. Look, the three of us made a deal yesterday after you went to see your dad. None of us are resting until we find Charlie, no matter what the case turns out to be. All right? Sleep can wait."

Megan, with a tight smile on her face, laid a hand on Don's arm, her eyes meeting his with concern. "I meant to ask, has anyone called the house?"

Don shook his head. His mind reeling from the gratitude he felt for his team. There had been no phone calls to trace. No demands or ransoms. Nothing like that sent to his father. Still, Don now had hope that was concrete. He had evidence that Charlie had been targeted, and reason stood that his brother could still be alive. He looked to the screen at the black and white, grainy image of Charlie's face glancing up at the camera.

Following his team out of the room, Don's eyes were alight with determination.

___Whoever took you, Buddy, _has no idea the fight they just picked.

* * *

**LuluWakkaGyyrl: **I made the OX87 up. I don't mind you using it or Rick in your fanfiction, but thanks for asking first. His full name is Patrick Fordel. He's actually not a mercenary for hire—he's an enforcer working for the Sumner's syndicate. In my head he's been working for them a pretty long time. =)


	6. Covet

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Numb3rs.

* * *

UFO

Creepy

Ratio

Underfoot

Parasite

**Consider Yourself Adopted 6/10**

* * *

A sleek Dodge turned off of the street and descended down into the subterranean parking deck that extended beneath the elegant architecture of the Starcoast Casino. Rick guided the vehicle through a series of security gates and posted armed guards. The underground lot was mostly empty, so he had his choice of places to park. He chose a space that was close to the elevator, which, unfortunately, only went up to the ground floor of the casino since originally the lot had been open to guests.

Now only the syndicate used it.

As Rick parked the car, Margo couldn't help but smile. Finally they were home. If someone wanted to take Charlie from her they'd have to bring a small army, not to mention risk hundreds of lives. The Starcoast was an immensely popular casino.

_I'd set this place on fire before I'd ever let them have you back, _Margo thought, gazing down at her professor's serenely unconscious face. _I love you, Charlie. And you're going to love me, too._

Switching off the ignition, Rick stepped out of his car and adjusted the dark suit he'd earlier exchanged his body armor for. Rather than a dressy shirt and tie, however, Rick wore a black t-shirt beneath the long jacket of his suit.

The kidnapper next opened the Dodge's trunk and retrieved a collapsible wheelchair, which he quickly set up and checked for sturdiness. He figured if the chair could hold his weight than surely Charlie wouldn't be a problem. Leaving his assault rifle in the trunk, Rick pushed the chair over to Margo's side of the car and opened her door.

"Get out, Princess. I need to get him upstairs."

The fake brunette gave Rick a disdainful look. "You could say _please_."

Margo then made a show of checking her designer watch. "Looks like someone's going to be la-ate," she said in a singsong voice.

Rick slammed her door, ignoring the yelp of indignation, and rounded the vehicle. Opening the opposite door, the kidnapper grabbed Charlie by the shoes and pulled him across the seat until the mathematician's legs were out of the car.

"Be careful!" Margo hissed. "You could at least wake him up first. You're going to hurt him!"

"No time. Like you said." Rick gave her a mean smirk before snatching Charlie by the sleeves and yanking the genius upright into a slumped sitting position. His gloved hands on Charlie's shoulders kept the younger man from tumbling right out of the car.

"You're going to give him whiplash," Margo complained, getting out and slamming her door. "Wouldn't this be easier if you just woke him up?"

"He_ is _waking up," Rick told her irritably. "Which is not a good thing. Think about it, Genius. He wakes up and he might get all kinds of attention we don't want. Get the chair so we can get him upstairs."

Margo's heels clicked furiously against the pavement as she hurried over to Rick's side of the car with the wheelchair.

"Be _careful_," she reiterated.

"Stop _nagging _me. Hold the damn chair still," Rick replied. He slid a muscular arm around Charlie and swiftly maneuvered the smaller man out of the car and into the chair.

Charlie groaned, shaking his head a little as both hands came up to hold it. "Where am… what's going…"

He was rubbing his eyes when Rick knelt and wrapped the safety straps around Charlie's legs, binding them to the front rigging of the chair.

The mathematician squinted at his kidnappers, trying to make sense of them. He felt disoriented and passive, and didn't care when Rick took his hands and handcuffed each wrist to the thin armrests of the chair.

Charlie felt terrible. All he wanted was for them to turn the lights off and let him go back to sleep.

"It's okay, Charlie," Margo assured, tucking a blanket over his arms and legs to conceal his restraints. She cupped one of his cheeks in her palm and met his confused eyes. "You look like you have a headache. Maybe you should close your eyes again?"

Smiling, she ran her other hand through his hair.

Charlie closed his eyes.

"I guess the Svenithsom's still affecting him," Margo mused quietly. "I didn't realize it could make him so… open to suggestion."

Rick grinned, pulling the hoodie over Charlie's curly head to mask the bandage that still encircled it. "Yeah it does that to some people when it's wearing off. My theory is their brain's just lookin' for anything, grasping for straws, you know? Getting him in the trunk yesterday was a cinch. He practically crawled in like it was his bed."

Margo scowled. "I'm still telling Daddy about that," she warned.

Rick gripped the handle bars on the back of the chair and started pushing Charlie along. "Go ahead. When I told him about it he laughed. He thinks it's cute when you get all puffed up about things like that."

Margo followed after Rick, her scowl transforming into a pout.

_Don't let him get you in a bad mood. You've got Charlie, _she reminded herself, and Margo's smile returned.

**Charlie was dreaming about sounds and colors. There were people laughing. The drone of multiple conversations surrounded him. When he looked around, everything seemed hazy and out of focus. He was moving, but he wasn't walking. **

**Gradually the dream began to disintegrate into clarity. The ambiguous edges sharpened, and the sounds began to make sense. He heard two voices in particular that he suddenly remembered. The thought of them filled him with dread.**

_This is really happening,_ Charlie thought, remembering.

He hesitated to open his eyes. He knew he was sitting down, but he was afraid to move. Bile was high in his throat, and Charlie knew without a doubt that if he moved too quickly he'd end up vomiting.

Margo was already upset about something.

"No, this is _not_ going to work," the young woman was saying, presumably to Rick. "What are all these people doing here? They have no business using _our_ elevator."

"Don't make a scene," Rick said under his breath, and Charlie could tell the man was standing behind him.

"But why are they here? There are twenty other elevators in the lobby. What's the point of having an executive elevator if it's going to be open to a bunch of poor people?" Margo replied, but with a lowered voice.

"Something must have happened. They all look excited," Rick observed. He watched the elevator open and another group of patrons spill out, some of them clearly drunk, but all of them glowing with joy and chattering happily.

"This is ridiculous," Margo huffed. "What are you waiting for? Get over there and_ make_ them get out of our way."

Rick scoffed. "Are you stupid? That's too many people and one of them might take too close a look at your boyfriend here. Things like that can lead to trouble later. Follow me."

Charlie felt himself being spun around and again they were moving.

"You're not seriously going back to the lobby, are you?" Margo asked, keeping up.

Rick sighed his disgust. "No, Princess. That would mean even _more_ people."

Margo narrowed her eyes, not liking his tone at all. "Then where _are _we going?"

"There's a utility elevator a few halls over. It'll be a tight fit, but it's looking like our best option."

**Floor thirty-one was empty of noise and life. It was silent and spacious. It was so quiet, in fact, that after several minutes Charlie opened his eyes.**

Margo noticed immediately. "Rick, he's awake again."

"Good," the kidnapper grunted, pushing Charlie along. "Do us a favor Sherlock and keep quiet. You're about to meet the Iron Lady."

"Otherwise known as Daddy's secretary," Margo clarified. "Don't talk to her, even if she tries to ask you something. She's a nobody who likes to pretend she's a somebody."

"She keeps your old man's rackets running on time. I'd say that's something," Rick pointed out.

"She's a _secretary_," Margo replied flippantly. "Anyway, Charlie, I'm not sure how fuzzy your brain is, but I hope you haven't forgotten the stakes. My brother's still—"

"A phone call away. I know," Charlie said wearily, cutting her off because frankly, he was tired of hearing it.

Charlie tried to push the hoodie off his head and grimaced when he felt a sharp dig in his wrist. Alarmed, he tried again, but the familiar pinch of handcuffs bit into his skin.

_They handcuffed me to the chair, _he realized, feeling panic override the nausea. Charlie tried to move his legs, twisting them against whatever held them tight to the chair. The need to get free of the restraints, now that he was aware of them, was overpowering.

"Don't do it," Rick warned him, giving the chair a sudden, harsh jerk that made Charlie freeze. "Just be still. Trust me. This is easier. You're waking up, but I promise you wouldn't be able to walk a straight line if we had you on your feet right now. Just relax and enjoy the ride."

"It won't be for long, Charlie," Margo assured as she led them up a nicely decorated hallway. She eventually came to a stop outside an office door, which she opened and entered without knocking.

Charlie was struck immediately at the immense size of the office. It was more like a suite, and had furniture as such. There were several groupings of couches and comfortable looking chairs, coffee tables and even a card table.

Near the entrance, however, was something most office's had. There was a large desk with a woman seated behind it. She was talking meanly into her phone with a distinctly foreign accent.

Her teeth were so oddly crooked that, looking at her, Charlie kept thinking of a shark. Her makeup was severe against the pallor of her skin. Her graying hair was pinned back from her face. She was dressed very professionally, if old-fashioned.

A crimson leather placard on her mahogany desk named her STRICKLAND in gold cursive letters.

Once she finished her slow, threatening conversation with the phone, the secretary turned her dispassionate attention to the newcomers waiting before her.

"Good morning, Mrs. Strickland," Margo offered, her voice syrupy sweet. She motioned towards a door that was to the right of the woman's desk. "Is Daddy here?"

The secretary didn't look pleased, but she nodded. "Yes. He's here. Your father said I should expect you, and the oaf."

Margo flashed a grin at Rick, who was containing a scowl rather admirably. "Perfect! Is he in his main office? Does he know we're here?"

Rather than answer her questions, Mrs. Strickland shot Charlie a look of deep disapproval. "Your father also mentioned the professor."

"And?" Margo challenged.

"And I regret I couldn't talk Carlisle out of this," Mrs. Strickland said, frowning. "Really, Margo, as if the Italians aren't giving us enough trouble, you've taken it upon yourself to risk the entire family."

"God, you're always so overdramatic," Margo groaned, dropping all pretenses of politeness and crossing her arms. "Can't we just skip this?"

But Mrs. Strickland was rising from her chair, a finger held up as if to make a point.

"Your little stunt has gathered not only national media attention," Mrs. Strickland continued, "but the FBI's scrutiny as well. Of all the men you could have chosen, you picked this one, and for what? You'll probably be tired of him by next week. You have always been and remain an incredibly narrow-sighted, selfish girl."

Margo's mouth fell open and her face flushed. "I would _never—_you don't know what you're talking about! I have loved Charlie for almost two years. I bet that's longer than _any_ relationship you've ever had, _if _you've ever even had one. You're just a jealous old cow. I can't wait for Daddy to send you packing to a nursing home."

"This of course will push everything up on the schedule," Mrs. Strickland replied, not deterred by Margo's insults and accusations. "Thanks to you, as soon as the family's debts are paid and all of our operations sold off, we'll have to be out of the country, and even these things will have to be rushed. There's no luxury of time now that you've given the FBI a bone to chase."

"They won't catch up. They'll have to process all those bodies before they can even start," Margo said dismissively. "Is Daddy in his office or not? He wanted us to come straight to him, and I didn't come here for a lecture, especially from _you_."

Mrs. Strickland's eyes were beetle-dark. "Don't assume your enemy is dumb, Margo. You've put this family at great risk to get your way. You must be careful."

She gestured one of her clawed fingers towards Charlie. "You can't go parading him around. You like to think of yourself as an expert on everything, but you don't know the first thing about human trafficking. I'm warning you—you think the hard part is over, but it's keeping him a secret, while we're in this country at least, that's going to be your biggest challenge—especially considering _your _propensity for showing off."

"I know, I know," Margo agreed, waving a hand and rolling her eyes as she walked past the woman's desk and towards the door that she hoped her father was on the other side of.

"I'm not stupid," Margo added. "No one will know that Charlie's here unless Daddy approves it, okay? Besides, Charlie's not leaving this floor again until we're ready to make the move to Europe."

Mrs. Strickland sat primly back into her office chair. She addressed Rick. "Carlisle asked me to direct the two of you and our guest to the executive conference room right up the hall. He's busy with a phone call, but he knows you're here and he appreciates your relative punctuality."

Rick nodded, immediately turning Charlie towards the door.

"Wait," Margo huffed. _She thinks she can just send me out like a little kid._

Rick paused by the door, giving her an expectant look.

Stalling, Margo ignored him and asked the secretary, "Why were so many people using our elevator? If Daddy was watching for us on his monitors than he surely he noticed that nonsense going on downstairs."

Mrs. Strickland liked Margo's displeasure. She smirked and explained, "A VIP went into labor on the twenty-first floor. You know the executive elevator is the fastest way to get such a manner off the casino's premises as quickly as possible. The woman was here with her entire wedding party. They've all gathered where she was brought down. It's not that big a deal, really. I'm sure they will follow her to the hospital soon enough."

"Well maybe you should have someone post a 'No Loitering' sign right in the middle of them as a hint," Margo sneered, crossing the room again and striding out the door without waiting for a response.

Mrs. Strickland turned her glare on Rick.

"The conference room," she repeated, pursing her lips in a meaningful, dismissive way.

The kidnapper regarded her as if he wanted to say something, but he thought better of it, shaking his head instead. Rick wheeled the professor out of the room and saw that Margo was already thirty feet ahead of them, marching up the hall towards the executive conference room they'd been sent to wait in.

As Rick casually followed, he leaned down and spoke quietly to Charlie. "Hey, you're still with it, right?"

"Yeah," Charlie confirmed, feeling outside himself. Even as he said the word, it seemed to him as if it came from someone else.

"Good," Rick continued, speaking close to Charlie's ear. "Listen up. Carlisle can't stand it when someone clams up on him. You understand, Sherlock? We've been telling you to keep your mouth shut, but when he talks to you, make sure you say something back, and not something stupid. You got it?"

Surprised by the advice, Charlie had to swallow and find his voice again. "Sure. …Are we in Las Vegas?"

"I think that'll be clear enough in a few seconds," Rick replied, straightening up and pushing the chair down the hall a little faster. "One thing about it—you'll definitely have a view."

**Inside the large conference room they found Margo pacing before a wall that was really a set of floor to ceiling windows. Beyond her, Charlie saw the brilliance of a sunrise and the city of Las Vegas sprawled for miles around them.**

"So I guess that answers your question," Rick said. He closed the door and pushed Charlie further into the room.

**It was another large room, with a long conference table in its center and at least twenty leather chairs pulled up to the polished wood. A granite wet bar ran along one wall, and the other two walls were home to gigantic frames of eerily beautiful and abstract art.**

"What question?" Margo asked, instantly suspicious. She advanced on Charlie, smiling down at her curly-haired acquisition. "Oh! You must want out of that chair," she assumed.

Charlie wasn't sure if he could answer that without being sarcastic. His incredulous look was enough.

Margo laughed, quickly grabbing up the blanket that hid the way he was restrained. She balled it up against her side, gave Rick a pointed look, and snapped her fingers towards Charlie.

"Well, get him out," she said impatiently.

Rick did not verbalize the dark thoughts in his mind, but instead went about removing the handcuffs from the professor's wrists and undoing the straps that kept Charlie's legs secured to the chair. The moment he was finished, Margo shoved the balled up blanket into the kidnapper's chest.

"Thanks. Now do something with this and that chair," she said. "We won't need them for a while."

"I'm not leaving until your old man gives the word," Rick said, accepting the blanket but not the order.

Margo rolled her blue eyes. "Please. Charlie's not going to hurt me. He's not that stupid. Go on. Give us some privacy. I want to talk to Charlie before Daddy comes in."

Truthfully Rick _wanted_ out of the room. His patience with his boss's daughter was running dangerously thin, and he rather liked his job, the high strung female elements aside.

His steeled eyes flicked to Charlie, who was still sitting in the wheelchair, rubbing his wrists and watching Margo and Rick's exchange with a thoughtful expression that Rick instantly distrusted.

"Sherlock, I figured you'd be jumping out of that chair," the kidnapper said good-humoredly, offering the mathematician his free hand.

Taking it, Charlie shakily got to his feet.

With Charlie out of the way, Rick dumped the blanket in the chair and used both hands to help the professor achieve some form of equilibrium.

Grinning, he said, "You're looking green on me again."

"I think I'm still entitled," Charlie replied, swallowing that sickly feeling that was threatening to fill up his throat again.

"You should sit down," Margo said worriedly. She pulled one of the leather chairs back for him. "I'm sure you'll feel better."

Charlie shoved the hoodie off of his head. He rested his elbows on the table's glossy surface as he sat down heavily into the seat and tried to will away his nausea. All of his thoughts were centered on Don and the team. Were they looking for him yet? Did they know he was alive?

More than anything, he hoped his father knew he wasn't dead. The idea of Alan grieving made Charlie's heart ache. And Don… the way his brother tended to shoulder responsibility… if Don didn't realize…

"Charlie," Margo began, her tone serious, "I can tell you don't feel well, that you're worried, but you need to pull it together before Daddy walks in. Try to sit up, honey. Okay?"

Charlie looked up, giving her the darkest, surliest look she'd ever seen him use on anyone. He looked downright pissed, and it gave Margo little shivers.

"_You_ insisted on pumping your drugs into my system," the professor pointed out, agitated.

Smirking, Rick clapped Charlie on the back and sat in the seat next to him. "I'll make a promise, Charlie. Next time we'll skip her drugs and I'll just use a crowbar or a baseball bat. Those'll do the trick."

"You will _not_," Margo said, sitting across from Rick

**Almost half an hour passed before the door opened and Carlisle Sumner made his entrance. Margo's father held a phone to his ear, and his other hand gripped a manila envelope. The door, made of heavy wood and reinforced with metal, closed of its own weight behind him.**

He took a seat directly across from Charlie, setting the folder on the conference table. His blond hair was slicked back across his scalp. Intelligent green eyes were framed by square cut glasses. True to the photo she'd shown Charlie when they'd ridden together in the van, Margo's father was every bit as muscular and looming as Rick.

Charlie swallowed. He couldn't suppress the sheer unease he immediately felt in the man's presence. Carlisle wore intimidation like an aura. It simply surrounded him. It had walked with him into the room, silent and menacing.

_Even sitting down he's gargantuan, _Charlie thought, and tried not to press back into his chair. More than anything, he wished his brother was there, or his father, or anyone who could help him not feel so incredibly alone and powerless with these people.

"If you want her to fit in something that small you'll have to cut the tendons in her legs. Listen, no problem. I told you; whenever you have questions I'm always here to help. All right. Have fun. Tell your father I said hello," Carlisle said kindly to the phone before snapping it shut and setting it aside.

"That was your nephew. He says congratulations," Carlisle told his daughter, who was seated to his left.

Margo replied with a nod and a fond smile.

Then the full weight of Carlisle's attention fell on Charlie.

"Now," said Carlisle, his tone remaining kind and professional, "I heard you spent a considerable amount of time in the trunk of a Mercedes. You'll have to forgive them for taking the precaution. Margo made it pretty clear that Big Brother doesn't play around when it comes to you."

"He doesn't," Charlie said, choosing to believe the man was talking about Don rather than the FBI or NSA or whatever other organization Carlisle had in mind.

"That's good, Charlie. It's good to know I've got something other people covet, especially my dear friends, the Feds," Carlisle said, nodding to himself as he placed a hand on the manila folder and slid it towards Charlie.

Charlie looked down at the folder and then back to Carlisle.

"Open it," the man invited, gesturing a hand.

Charlie frowned, regarding the folder and its concealed contents warily. "What's in it?"

"I said, 'open it', Charlie."

The voice was still friendly, but Carlisle had leaned forward, and his eyes were hardened behind their square-cut glasses.

Charlie found the room suddenly too quiet and still. He glanced at Rick, who still sat beside him, head supported lazily by one hand and elbow on the table. His kidnapper wore an unreadable expression.

Lowering his eyes back to the folder, Charlie couldn't help but wonder why the thing seemed so menacing. He hesitated a moment more before finally flipping it open. His dread was confirmed as soon as its contents were revealed.

"Look through them. Go ahead," Carlisle encouraged. His smile showed a gold tooth. "I admit I'm in a hurry, but you need to have a good look at those."

Charlie felt frozen. He'd seen his share of gruesome crime scene photos. He'd seen pictures of dead bodies, of people murdered in grisly ways, even some truly terrible ones that Don had tried to shield him from, but these pictures—these showed images that belonged only in the most gruesome horror films.

They were torturous, and unlike the people he saw in Don's case files, the people in these pictures, despite the things that were being done to them, _these_ people were very obviously still alive.

Their bodies were contorted and wide-eyed. The pain was evident in their clenched jaws and breakneck screams. Their agony was so intense that it terrified Charlie to even dare and imagine being in their shoes. Just looking at them made what they'd felt in those excruciating moments palpable.

"Why are you showing me these?" Charlie asked, his voice quieted by shock. His eyes were averted from both the photographs and the man who'd presented them.

Carlisle was still channeling an almost fatherly friendliness. "You're the genius, Charlie. You tell me."

Thinking a moment, the mathematician tried to be calm as he answered, but there was a definite tremble in his voice, "I can only assume that you accurately predicted that I'd find these images highly disturbing, and thus be very intimidated."

"These are people who made mistakes, Charlie." Carlisle spread the pictures out so that each one was visible. "And I'll tell you something else about them—not a single one has gone on to meet their Maker. Not yet."

"Although this man here's scheduled to be cut loose on Friday." Carlisle tapped one of the pictures. "Look at him, Charlie. You think he's ready?"

Charlie looked, not because he wanted to, but because he knew, without a doubt, that he was expected to. That didn't meant he was able to look long. Charlie glanced at the man's horrified, raw expression and quickly turned his face away, squeezing his eyes shut a moment in the vain attempt to banish the image from his memory.

Carlisle's laugh was subtle. "Don't worry. It's not gonna come to this for you Charlie. Look at these pictures again for me. Just one more time. Now, I want you to imagine your brother, or your father—whoever you think is on our list of people you associate with. Get them in mind. You screw with me and I'll give you a front row seat, as many as it takes to help you get in line. Am I clear, Charlie?"

Charlie absolutely could not look at the pictures again, but he didn't need to. They were burned into his mind. Worse, they were no longer snapshots of strangers being tortured with unimaginable cruelty—they were pictures of Don, of Alan, of Amita and everyone else he loved.

"Am I clear, Charlie?"

Charlie gave a stiff nod. He was trembling, but couldn't help it.

"I think he's looking for a 'yes sir', Sherlock," Rick suggested.

Surprised again by Rick's offer of advice, Charlie threw the kidnapper a glance before swallowing and forcing himself to meet Carlisle's eyes.

"Crystal clear" Charlie said. "And... you should know... I would never do anything to give you the excuse to harm my loved ones," he added, somehow getting the words out despite the fear he felt.

"Good. Now that you know what to expect should you ever cross me, we can get to my offer. Here's the deal, Charlie. I've been keeping tabs on you ever since my daughter brought you to our attention. From what we've gathered, you're one hell of a smart kid. You're even a standup guy. I admit I'm no whiz at technology like Margo, but she's convinced you're the key to getting the kinks of this program she's been trying to get off the ground. Your job is to help her. It has to work perfectly—without any backlash from the Feds. Do this for me and your family stays safe. Understand, Charlie?"

"Yes."

Charlie just hoped that whatever Margo sought to create was actually doable.

Checking his watch, Carlisle leaned forward, his eyes searching Charlie's. "One more thing. I'm sure Margo's already told you that we're interested in making you a permanent part of this family, yes?"

"Well…" an almost bashful Margo interrupted, "I haven't told him that we're getting_ married_ per say. I mean, once the program's worked, and there's time..."

Charlie's brain tripped over itself at the word _married. _His wide eyes looked from Margo to her father. Why it shocked him so much he wasn't sure. Margo had made it explicitly clear multiple times that she thought they were soul mates or some such nonsense.

_No matter what she's thinking, there's no way her dad's going to keep me around once this program of theirs is finished, _Charlie thought to himself, and made a conscious effort not to pay attention to the photographs that still lingered in the periphery of his vision.

Carlisle gathered his phone and stood up. "Well kids, I've got to run. We'll talk about this more when you've had some time to let things sink in, Charlie. I imagine this is a lot to get your head around, even for a math genius, but you know, there's something about you that I already like. You're like an open book. I don't expect any problems from you."

Carlisle looked next to Margo. "And you. Come on. I want to hear about your trip on my way down to the car."

Margo flashed a confident smile at Charlie. "Don't worry. I'll be back soon," she promised, and left with her father.

Which left Charlie alone with his kidnapper.

A few minutes of silence passed between them before Rick said, "Your face when she dropped the M-word was priceless, just so you know."

Charlie shuddered. He gathered the pictures up on the table and stuffed them back into the folder without really looking at them. Once they were out of sight he instantly felt a little better, but he couldn't help but ask:

"Are those people really still alive? Are they here, somewhere?"

"Yeah. They're a couple of floors below this one." Rick gave Charlie a funny look. "You're not thinking about doing something stupid, like rescuing them, huh Sherlock?"

"I seriously doubt I'd have any luck," Charlie replied in a subdued voice. "Besides, it's 'clear' that I can't make any mistakes without putting my dad or brother at risk."

Rick scoffed. "Those people there, in those pics, they don't deserve pity from the likes of you. They aren't _like_ you. They're like me."

"What do you mean?"

"They've done things. You know... like blowing up a classroom full of college kids," Rick said, smirking when the somewhat helpless look on Charlie's face was overshadowed with a deep scowl.

"But he wasn't lying when he said they'd ended up like this for pulling shit on him," Rick added, wanting Charlie to be assured of that much. "Don't get it in your head to do anything stupid. He wasn't bluffing, Charlie."

"How can these people honestly expect me to just…" Charlie struggled for an accurate description, "—_turn_ into one of them?"

Rick's smile was grim. "Honestly kid, I don't think you'll ever be like them either, but there's one thing I'm sure of—you'll belong to them. You might as well pretend it's by choice and reap the benefits."

The kidnapper leaned forward, putting a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "You might as well let go of whatever little schemes or plans you've got going on in the back of that curly head, too. Got it?"

Charlie's only answer was a brown-eyed glared.

"Come on," Rick said, unwilling to get into a staring contest. "It looks like I'm still stuck with you. Might as well get that cut on your head taken care of. Wouldn't want you to die before your _wedding_."

Reluctantly, Charlie followed his kidnapper back out into the hall. He was no longer dizzy or disoriented, and this, at least, was an opportunity to start learning the layout of the casino.


	7. Mole

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Numb3rs.

* * *

UFO

Creepy

Ratio

Underfoot

Parasite

**Consider Yourself Adopted 7/10**

* * *

The carpet beneath Charlie's feet bore intricate, circular configurations that interwove in shades of gold, red, and turquoise. Round light fixtures hung from the high ceiling and pictures of abstract art were displayed against the Venetian gold wallpaper. Every door in the spacious hallway was closed, and it was completely quiet except for the muffled sound of footsteps.

A new, much smaller bandage protected the elongated cut on Charlie's forehead. It was mostly hidden by his hair. The professor absently prodded at the synthetic contours as he followed his kidnapper up the hall.

After several minutes of walking, Rick paused before a door numbered 31412 and used a hotel keycard to gain entry. He then gestured for the mathematician to go first.

Charlie hesitated briefly before stepping out of the bright hallway and into the dark coolness of the room. Right away he reached for a light switch. Finding it, the professor flipped on the lights and found himself in a generically decorated bedroom.

Aside from the queen-sized bed there was an adjoining bathroom, a small table with two chairs, and a slim desk with its accompanying office chair. It was the kind of room Charlie had stayed in for countless speaking engagements and academic conferences. The only thing missing was a TV.

Charlie crossed the carpeted floor to where the windows were placed above an AC unit. He opened the heavy curtains and gazed out at the city. The morning light bathed a landscape of towering buildings and touristy attractions.

"You brought me to a city full of cameras," Charlie breathed, almost dizzy by the knowledge of how high up they were. The cars moving in the streets far below looked miniscule. The people, too.

"Yeah, but you're high above 'em," Rick replied, closing the door before taking advantage of the bed. The kidnapper lay back on the soft covers and crossed his arms behind his head. Once he was comfortable his hazel eyes went to Charlie.

"If you haven't guessed, this is where you'll be working and whatnot."

Leaving the curtain open, Charlie glanced back at his kidnapper. "I was wondering—does Carlisle own this casino?"

_If he does, surely Don will connect Margo to this place…once they realize neither of us died in the explosion… if they're able to._

Charlie didn't really want to dwell on body counts or what the FBI found when they sifted through the horrific mess that Rick had left for them. Had anything even survived the fire?

"It's not his officially," Rick answered, crossing his shoes and not caring if they were getting anything on the comforter. "He's got some Iranian guy who owns everything on paper. Soon it'll belong to the Italians anyway though."

"Margo said something about moving to Europe," Charlie remembered.

Rick resisted the urge to kick off his shoes. "Yeah. The goal's to be out of the States by the end of next week, so Carlisle's been tying up loose ends for months, selling off the syndicate's assets and whatnot; anything to pay off all this damn debt that's piled up ever since the Feds started shutting down our lower rackets and arrestin' key players. Still, even this casino isn't enough to satisfy what we own the Italians. That's why Margo's program counts for so much. You two love birds are gonna steal us a shit ton of money so we can settle up and get the heck out of Dodge with plenty of cash to spare."

Charlie's expression was flat. "..You're serious. You people expect to be out of here by the end of next _week_? What if the program can't be completed by then?"

Rick snorted. "Not an option."

"Not a... You _do_ realize that if this project of Margo's is anything like what I suspect it is it's _not _something I'm going to be able to just snap my fingers and have done? Right?"

Charlie tried to make the other man understand. "Building apparatuses like what you've all been alluding to is complicated work—not to mention considering your resources. Unless you've got a cache of computers hidden somewhere in this room I'm not even sure if you have the necessary tools to build something as sophisticated as—"

"—What's _important_," Rick raised his voice far above Charlie's, "is that you get it done _fast_. You come across as taking your sweet time on this and Carlisle's gonna think a certain math teacher's just playin' him—that you're giving Big Brother time to catch up to us."

Hideous images of torture crept at the fringes of Charlie's mind. He sighed. "If I take too long, he'll bring in motivation for me to speed up."

"Just stay on your toes, Sherlock."

The kidnapper's phone vibrated.

He answered a text and said, "Margo's on her way up. If I were you I'd get straight to work once she's here. You want a shower? I'm pretty sure you still got blood and Christ knows what else on you—Or maybe you'd rather wait on your girlfriend—Excuse me, your _fiancé_."

Rick smirked at the visible reaction the mathematician had to the idea of taking a shower with Margo, or maybe it was just the thought of her being his girlfriend that had caused Charlie to cringe in disgust.

**The door could not be locked, but it was at least privacy. It was a barrier, even if a sad semblance of one, between him and **_**them. **_

In the shower Charlie hurried. He didn't want to think about Margo barging in and talking to him or watching him or _whatever_. His stomach felt sick at memory of her heavy gaze, and of the way she kept furtively touching him. When he'd been unconscious, had she been touching him then, too? The probable odds were too disturbing and the professor simply refused to think about it. He put the subject of Margo completely out of his mind and focused on getting the stiff, dried blood and fuzzy bits of debris out of his hair.

_Don will help me, _he thought. Over and over, he repeated it, even as a hand raked stressfully through his hair.

**Bidding goodbye to her father, Margo rushed to drop by her room and then practically ran to the room she'd picked for Charlie. Her incessant knocking went on for a full minute before Rick deigned to get up and open the door. **

Margo stood breathing hard in the hallway, a composition notebook and her laptop pressed to her chest. Her eyes, blue again without the contacts she'd deemed too itchy to wear, glared up at Rick. "I forgot my keycard in my room. What took you so long? Where's Charlie?"

Rick smirked down at her, leaning against the doorframe and physically blocking her entry. "I sort of half-hoped you'd go away."

Margo stood on her toes, trying to peer around him. "_Where's Charlie_?" she repeated.

"I told him to get a shower."

Margo saw that Charlie was already out of the shower and sitting at the computer workstation. There was a bored look on his face and his hair was obviously wet. Rick stepped aside and the graduate student hurried over to Charlie, smiling and setting her laptop down on the desk before him.

"Sorry it took me so long to get back," she apologized, plugging in the laptop and handing the professor her composition notebook. "Go ahead and look through it—It details the program I've been working on. To tell you the truth I'm pretty close to being finished, but I know everything will be perfect if _you _double check for me."

Charlie accepted the notebook, opening it up with a small, worried frown on his face.

Margo took her seat beside him, sitting on the desk's edge where she could gaze down at her professor while he flipped through the pages and considered her notes, equations, and diagrams.

A faint blush on her face gave away the fact that Margo was still contemplating what Rick had said about Charlie being in the shower. _Charlie being clean_. She couldn't help it. She could feel the lust and excitement welling up inside, but there was no way she was going to act on it with Rick in the room.

_Get it together, girl. You've got to get this done for Daddy first. You've got to show him that Charlie can be trusted. Then you'll have all the time you ever wanted,_ Margo reminded herself.

But after several minutes of watching him read, Margo began to feel uncomfortable.

"Don't feel bad about Daddy running out so fast," she said, needing to fill the silence. "I can tell he liked you. I'm sure he would have stayed longer if he'd had time. He's going to a final meeting with some of his oldest partners. We're settling up with them by giving them our California operations. The program will get us fixed with the rest of our borrowers. Well, that and the casino. Daddy plans on just giving it to the Italians. They've been so patient… they'd probably balk if we tried to _sell _it to them."

Charlie half-listened as he studied Margo's notebook. He'd seen systems like hers before, both in theory and from helping Don with numerous online theft cases in the past. Comparing them to what he saw in the notebook, however, Charlie could tell that Margo's system was extremely refined and carefully thought out. When it was completed she would be able to steal incredible amounts of money without the threat of being backtracked. In fact, the banks that she stole from might not even notice their loss for days.

She knew exactly what she was doing. Any alterations or anomalies he added to her system would surely be noticed and removed, or worse, brought to Carlisle's attention.

Charlie stared at the notebook until the numbers on the page went out of focus.

"I can't wait to help Daddy set up some new rackets in France," Margo was saying. "Here we've mostly dealt with drugs and prostitution, but really we can cater to whatever the local market's thirsty for. Part of my job's always been analyzing which rackets will be the most lucrative given a locality. …Oh Charlie, I can't wait to see Europe! We'll have to visit everywhere. All of the landmarks. We'll be joining my uncle's syndicate there. He and Daddy are really close, so we'll all have a place in the organization."

A password screen appeared on Margo's laptop. Charlie watched her fingers stroke the keys, feeling sick again when he realized her password was his name.

She smiled brightly at him. "So Charlie, are you ready?"

* * *

**The picture in her hand was small and thin, much like the exuberant young woman it depicted. Long black hair was pulled into a high ponytail. A brilliant smile and warm almond eyes glinted with mischief.**

**Seventy-eight hours had passed since the attack on CalSci.**

Megan solemnly pinned the photograph of Amber Yi below the enlarged crime scene snapshot of the girl's unrecognizable remains. After firmly pushing the tack into place, the agent sighed and stepped back, her light brown eyes traveling over the pegboard's collection of student photos.

"Diana Adams's parents are flying in from Colorado," Colby said from behind her. "Before David called they had no idea anything had even happened."

Megan grimaced. "I guess we're not the only ones who don't have time for the news… or to check up on people."

"If she's our other vic than that just leaves Charlie MIA," Colby continued. "Margo Sumner lives with an aunt in Pasadena—a Vanessa Rubio. She claims Margo's already on vacation cause she was exempted from Charlie's exam. Don and David should be back from paying her visit soon."

Colby's green eyes were tired from days of helping the techs go through hundreds of video feeds from CalSci's buildings. "Oh, and LAPD's finished sweeping the campus. Whoever took Charlie down that staircase didn't leave a body on campus, so that works towards our goal of Charlie hopefully still being alive somewhere."

DNA evidence had confirmed the day before that it was definitely Charlie's blood on the fire escape. Since then, an APB had been put out on the young FBI consultant. His name and picture had been released to all law enforcement and the media, and he was officially labeled a missing person.

**There was a knock. ****Megan and Colby found Larry, looking hunched and somewhat meek.**

"I hope I'm not interrupting?" the professor inquired hesitantly.

"No, Larry, it's fine. How's Alan? Have you spoken to him today?" Colby asked.

Larry shook his head. "Not today I haven't, though I'm sure Amita's with him. She's spent as much time at his side as possible—Megan, could you perhaps spare a moment?"

**Outside the FBI's headquarters, Larry and Megan sat on a bench. The sun overhead warmed their backs as a constant steam of people passed them by.**

"When you were kidnapped by that insane woman," Larry began, gripping Megan's hand, "I felt petrified. I'd never had my own powerlessness, the frailty of my own illusion of control, so clearly shown to me. I felt like everything I thought I knew was just a house of cards ready to fall. Now for the second time in my life someone I care about dearly is out there—and with another murdering psychopath no less—and I'm just sitting here. Helpless again."

"Larry—" Megan rubbed her thumb across the top of his hand. "—Everyone's feeling a little lost right now. It's a normal human response."

"But it's more than a little. When you were taken, the FBI knew exactly who had you and what she wanted," Larry explained. "I feel like we're walking in absolute darkness. And every moment we spend trying to figure out where we are the distance between us and Charles just grows exponentially."

Megan wrapped his hand in both of hers and met his eyes. "Larry, look at me. Somewhere, no matter _what_ the distance is, our friend is waiting on us. Charlie knows we're coming. He just doesn't know how long it's gonna take us to put the pieces together so we can bring him back. …Is there anything you can do to help us figure out, I dunno, where the kidnapper went once he left campus? Or has Charlie told you about anything strange he's noticed, like someone following him?"

Larry shook his head. "No, he hasn't said anything. All of our conversations of late have been about that Eastside Eyesnatcher case he was helping Don with."

A brief pause, and Larry tapped his chin as a thought came to him. "However… I _do_ think I can help you determine the most probable route our kidnapper took after abducting Charles based upon the road blocks they used—and using general traffic flow information."

Megan smiled. "I think that's better than feeling helpless. Shall we?"

**Roughly an hour later, Don and David returned, bringing with them Lt. Gary Walker. The team, along with Larry, met in the bullpen. **

"Vanessa Rubio's address was a complete fake," Don said, feeling like he was on the verge of something. "It and the phone number both belong to a nursing home. Of course, no one there admits to being the one that answered the phone. Whoever did probably hit the road the moment she hung up. I mean it might've even been Margo Sumner herself."

"It gets better," David said. "Lt. Walker thinks this Margo is part of a crime family that used to operate in LA."

Walker jumped in. "To be honest I can't tell you for sure if she's part of the Sumner Syndicate or not. We haven't paid them much attention lately. They've been in decline for years. You guys all but put 'em out of business 'bout ten years ago. Rumor back then was they cut their losses and moved out of state."

"Other than her last name is there anything that connects this girl with them?" Megan asked.

Colby read from a stack of information he'd been compiling ever since the team had pinned Margo as one of the bodies that was potentially missing from the scene. "Well.. let's see. She's twenty-six, attended CalSci for the past two years pursuing a degree in statistics… _No_ criminal background. Never had a job. She's listed as living with her aunt in Pasadena, but she grew up on the east side of Clark County, about ten miles outside Las Vegas. She's got more family but their whereabouts are unknown."

"What about her folks? What're their names?" Walker asked.

Colby flipped through his notes. "Carlisle James Sumner and Tiffany Michelle Foley."

"Well there you go," Walker said emphatically. "Carlisle Sumner was the head of the syndicate. There's no way this is a coincidence. Now the question's just what do they want your brother for."

"No idea," Don admitted, both at a loss and at the same time, excited for the lead. "I mean, I can't say for sure if it's Charlie or if it's me they were angling at. But as far as I know I've never had a run in with any Sumners."

"Margo's the key here," David said to the group. "She's the connection between Charlie and the people who abducted him. It might not have anything to do with you or the FBI, Don. Charlie having a brother in the FBI could just be a coincidence."

Larry agreed. "Charles's abilities are, I'm afraid to admit, bound to be viewed as a lucrative commodity. This could all be about his ability to crunch numbers."

"We gotta find out why these people would want Charlie and where they took him," Don said, his worry slipping through.

Lt. Walker nodded, and was struck with an idea. "We've got a mole embedded in the Creswell Syndicate. Now the Creswells used to be real cozy with the Sumners. Maybe our mole can poke around and see if the Creswells know anything about what the Sumners are up to these days."

"Yeah and more importantly—where they are," Don said. "I think this is our best lead. Colby, keep digging on Margo. Everyone else, we need to know everything under the sun about the Sumners. Fortunately, we've got Lt. Walker here to help educate us."

* * *

**Yawning, Charlie stared at the screen and its slurry of numbers. **

The last seventy-eight hours blurred together. They'd consisted of working on the program, fending off Margo's unremitting need to touch him _and_ her offers of food (the idea of food made his stomach turn) and sleeping with one of his wrists handcuffed to the bed. As if that wasn't enough, one of Carlisle's enforcers, Rick, or another guy named Hal, was always in the room with Charlie.

And they made him _nervous._

And then when Margo was there it was impossible to concentrate. If she wasn't chattering on about things he didn't care about, she was touching him—trying to massage his shoulders or rub his back or brush his hair out of his face. She was incredibly distracting. It was taking everything in him not to snap at her.

So far Charlie had spent two nights at the casino. His left wrist had the raw handcuff indentions to prove it.

Both nights Margo had crawled into the bed next to Charlie and quietly complained about him keeping all of his clothes on (even the hoodie). It was difficult to sleep with her hands and her mouth and her hot breath all pressing against him, but Charlie pretended. He feigned being dead asleep and spent the day exhausted.

Fortunately she seemed reluctant to do too much, with Rick or Hal in the room.

**For that, Charlie was incredibly grateful.**

* * *

**The young mathematician was not the only Eppes having trouble finding sleep. For Alan, the house was just too empty without his son. Even with FBI agents hanging about the phones and the presence of Amita, Alan felt alone and far too miserable to sleep.**

Margaret looked up at him, her wedding veil and her soulful eyes almost tangible. Alan still remembered the feel of the lace, and the weight of her intelligent, loving gaze.

"I just want our son back. Right here where I can see him," Alan whispered to the framed picture.

Amita was behind him. Sensing her, Alan said, "You know, both of them have been missing before. …When Charlie was eight he ran off from Don's birthday party. We searched for hours. Of course, it turned out he was perfectly fine. He'd tried walking home on his own."

Amita smiled, imagining Charlie navigating the roads, too egotistical and oblivious to realize he was putting himself in danger… too wrapped up in the process to think about his family being worried sick.

"That sounds like him," Amita said affectionately.

"Then it was Don's turn. When he was twelve some thugs at the park threw him in a well," Alan said, remembering the cold, rainy day.

Perplexed, Amita asked, "Why?"

"You know kids. Some of them are just plain mean. I looked all over that park for Don, but it was Charlie that found him. I think that was the same day my wife officially decided I was no longer to be left alone with our children," Alan added, smiling a little.

"Well… until she… but you get what I'm saying."

Amita nodded, swallowing not only her grief, but the pain she felt for Alan.

What would it do to him to lose Charlie?

What was it doing to her?

Feeling overwhelmed, Amita managed to meet the older man's tired gaze and ask, "Do you mind if I step outside?"

**The stars were spread out in every direction, but while Amita collected herself under them, Alan returned to the TV, where a montage of over forty victims was playing in time with a slow, sad song of remembrance The pictures, names, and ages of the victims appeared onscreen in what seemed like an endless list. There were so many of them, and they were so young and full of life. **

At the end of the montage an APB picture of a girl named Margo Sumner popped up. For the tenth time Alan listened as a journalist gave the young woman's measurements and other descriptive details.

Then Charlie appeared.

Seeing those warm brown eyes and the curly mess of hair—but above all else his son's smile—hurt Alan. He felt a deep ache in his heart that he hadn't experienced since the death of his wife. His head began to spin, and the pain he'd been ignoring in his chest intensified.

—_a professor of applied mathematics at the California Institute of Science. He was last seen in the hallway, presumably—_

Alan took a seat, his eyes unable to tear away from the screen. The remote slipped from the couch and fell to the floor.

* * *

**SamSam: **If I had to place this story within the context of the show's chronology I think it'd fit best in early season 3, where Amita is working at CalSci, but before Millie's arrival or Larry's NASA trip. I like Millie, too, but when I started this I didn't know about her and this fic is completely written. I just wait between posting chapters to see if I can get any useful feedback on the direction it's going. Maybe if I do another Numb3rs fic Millie will be there. =)


	8. Hal

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Numb3rs.

* * *

UFO

Creepy

Ratio

Underfoot

Parasite

**Consider Yourself Adopted 8/10**

* * *

"Agent Eppes! About the Eastside Eyesnatcher case—are you still the lead agent in charge? Are you aware that another woman was found killed last night?"

Don bypassed the reporter, her outstretched microphone, and her skinny cameraman.

Megan held up a hand to signal that she wasn't interested in interviews either and hurried to keep up with Don's stride. Both agents made a beeline for the FBI's front doors.

Insulted, the reporter followed after them. "Is it true you've put this case on the backburner to focus on your missing brother? What does _that_ say to the families of the Eyesnatcher's victims, or are you too busy to explain to them that their justice just isn't as important? _Agent!_ Is it true or not that you abandoned a serial killer case to lead the investigation into your brother's alleged kidnapping?"

"Abandoned?" Megan scoffed, throwing an incredulous look back at the reporter. "It's called a _reassignment. _Now if you don't mind, we have work to do. There's a life we're trying to save and you're wasting our time trying to create a story where there isn't one."

**Don and Megan left the reporter and her small crew behind. I****n the bullpen t**hey found David and Colby taking notes on a video. 

Before Don could speak, Colby said, "Check out the bistro adjacent to that building. You can see someone who looks a lot like Charlie being pushed along by some giant dude dressed for combat."

Colby leaned back in his chair so that Don and Megan had a clear view of the computer screen.

Chewing his gum, Don leaned closed. "…That's definitely Charlie. Who's that other guy? What is that—an assault rifle he's got?"

The man was taller, much bigger than his little brother. Don memorized every trait he could, his dark eyes following as the man half-dragged, half-shoved Charlie past the bistro of a giant, marble-encased building. The name 'Palmer Hall' was inscribed above its columned promenade.

"Don't know. The feed's too blurry for facial recognition. The techs are still trying to clean it up," David replied.

"Charlie's holding his head," Megan noted, frowning and worried. "Maybe the guy hit him or he was injured in the blast?"

Don nodded. "Yeah, looks like it," he said, keeping the anger in his voice carefully measured. _Save it. Save it for when you'll need it, Eppes._

"So," Megan began, "We've got a trip to make."

Refocusing, Don agreed. "Lt. Walker called. LAPD's finally made contact with that mole he was talking about. The guy's undercover handle is 'Rudy'. He says that the Crewells are heading to Vegas in two days to meet up with the Sumners over some business deal. As far as the lieutenant knows the mole's going with them."

"Has he heard anything about Charlie?" David asked.

Don gave a frustrated shake of his head. "No. He doesn't even know what the meeting's about, or where in Vegas it's going down. LAPD says he'll be wearing his camera the whole time though, so we'll have eyes and ears."

"I'm gonna phone Dad and let him know," Don said. "David, see if you can get a hold of Larry and Amita. It wouldn't hurt to have them near a phone in case we need them. I mean, you just never know, right? Let's be on the road in the next hour."

The team dispersed, hurrying to get several tasks done so they could hit the road, so they could come closer to finding out if their gut was telling them the truth—that Charlie was still alive and out there waiting on them.

**Night was falling again in Las Vegas, which for Charlie, meant that Rick was about to swap out with his other babysitter, another enforcer named Hal. ****Hal was Rick-sized and thus taller than Charlie. He wore a black suit, dark gloves, and sometimes dark shades—looking every bit to the professor like a comic book thug. His electric red hair was slicked back and his eyes were blue.**

**In personality, he was **_**nothing**_** like Rick.**

Hal kept a firm hand on Charlie as he escorted the mathematician up the hall. For some reason the enforcer was even crankier than usual.

"That kind of hurts," Charlie muttered, irritated at the digging grip. It was sending sharp little pricks of pain through his left shoulder.

Hal tightened the hold, bunching the gray fabric of Charlie's hoodie in his gloved fingers. "Keep your mouth shut and walk. If you _do_ try something, I swear to god I'll _break_ something."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I said _shut up_," Hal snapped, giving Charlie's shoulder a harsh shake before shoving him along again. "For a genius you're being pretty damn stupid."

The red-haired enforcer directed Charlie into Mrs. Strickland's office. Her nose wrinkled at the sight of the professor.

"Well, Professor, your picture is all over the news," she informed him in her disapproving, heavily accented voice. "Does that make you happy? It shouldn't. It's making Carlisle anxious to get out of this country all the faster. You better have good news for him, _Charlie_."

_I'm on the news. They know I was kidnapped, _Charlie thought to himself, grinning like an idiot.

"Go in," Mrs. Strickland ordered impatiently, motioning towards the door on the left side of her desk.

**Hal did not follow him into the office.**

"Margo tells me you two are about finished."

"It should be ready for a test run soon," Charlie confirmed, glancing around Carlisle's office. It contained a desk and a large office chair, but the young professor's attention was drawn to a wall full of framed photographs.

It wasn't something he'd expected to see.

Not in the office of a crime boss.

"Good. That's good, Charlie." Carlisle followed Charlie's gaze. He then motioned for Charlie to get a closer look at the pictures with him.

Standing before the wall, Charlie examined the large array of photographs. They were almost exclusively of Margo at different stages of her life. There was only one picture of her as an adult. It was a portrait of her and a young man that looked so much like her that Charlie knew the guy had to be her older brother.

_So that's the guy she says is watching Dad. _Charlie frowned at the picture. Margo's brother didn't look menacing. He looked like a frat boy.

"She's a genius at math, isn't she?" Carlisle said. "You can't imagine how much the family has depended on her to keep the business running smoothly."

"She's a very smart girl," Charlie admitted. He was suddenly drawn to a black and white glamour portrait that showed a beautiful woman with short flirty hair and sultry eyes.

The professor tilted his head to the side. "Is this Margo's mother?"

Carlisle nodded. "That's her. She passed away when Margo was still in junior high. Good thing, too. Margo was at that age where she couldn't stand her mother anyway. You're still young. Remember being that way?"

"I was never at an age where I disliked_ either _of my parents," the mathematician replied evenly.

"We had reasons, Charlie," Carlisle said. "She was a block of ice, that woman—only as good as the money that came with her. I put up with her ways for Margo's sake, thinking every kid needs two parents and _yada yada_. Then one day I catch her giving info to this reporter she'd gotten cozy with. I took both of them to a little lake in Clarke County. Bitch sank like a rock. She was too proud to fight it. She didn't even beg."

Carlisle laughed at the professor's disturbed expression. "Something you should know about this family, Charlie," he said, amused as he put his arm around the younger man's shoulders, "we don't treat betrayal lightly. We don't stand for it."

Carlisle's arm felt like a heavy weight draped across Charlie's neck. He wanted to shrug it off.

"Does Margo know?"

"Sure she knows. She was so angry at that woman she hardly cared. You know what she did? She took everything that belonged to her mother, short of this picture, and burned it all up in the desert," Carlisle said, shaking his head as if at a fond memory. "You see, I don't know if she's mentioned it, but Margo has a _thing_ for fire."

"She's mentioned it," Charlie said, swallowing again.

**Later that night, Hal swapped out with Rick. The kidnapper entered the room fully expecting to see Charlie working. He'd been ready to tell the little nerd to hang it up for the night and go to bed, that Margo would be in there soon anyway. To his surprise, Charlie was already sitting on the bed.**

**And he was acting weird. **

"What is _wrong_ with me?" Charlie groaned as he held his head with his free hand. Hal had apparently already handcuffed his other hand to the headboard.

"Look, buddy, you might as well go with it," Rick said, amused at the lost expression. Someday he'd have to get the professor completely wasted. It could be hilarious. "She must have put something in your food. Don't worry about it. There's _no way in hell_ I'm going to subject myself to being in the room with her jumpin' your bones. They don't pay me enough for that shit."

Rick paused, noticing those dark, glassy eyes were trying hard to focus on him. Charlie was looking seriously stoned. Rick grinned, wondering if the guy even knew where he was.

"What did you call me?" The professor gasped, his mouth falling open as something seemed to dawn on him.

Charlie's smile was brilliant as he tried to get up, but Rick grabbed his shoulders and forced the mathematician to sit back down on the comforter. "Bad idea. You're attached to the bed, remember Sherlock? Damn. She got you high, didn't she?"

Charlie was shaking and his voice was saturated with relief. He clutched Rick's sleeve, looking up at the kidnapper with something like hero-worship reflected in his brown eyes. "I _knew_ you'd come. I knew you'd find me."

"Kid, you're delirious or hallucinating. Probably both," Rick said with a smirk as he pried Charlie off. "That's what working for almost week straight without any sleep does to a guy even _without_ drugs. Now lay down. If you're lucky you'll just pass out. It'd serve the little bitch right."

"But we have to go… They'll come back," Charlie insisted, worried and yawning as he lay down.

**Minutes later the door opened, but the gun did not make a sound. Rick staggered into the AC unit and managed to turn around, grasping his stomach with wide, hazel eyes. ****The shock and writhing agony burned in his flesh so that he couldn't even speak. He tried to bring up his handgun, but was shot again, this time in the right shoulder. Rick crumpled against the wall, unable to breathe. The bullets and their damage felt like scalding water. He looked to the bed where the professor was completely unconscious. **

Three men led by Hal swiftly entered the room, with one hanging by the door as a lookout.

Hal stood dispassionately over Rick and aimed the gun at his fellow enforcer's head. "I could leave you to just bleed out, but I always liked you Rick. You just happen to be in my way. I thought about bringing you in on this, but I know how loyal you are to Carlisle. And to be honest, you like that kid over there way too much to go along with this."

Hal grinned at the steely glare the other man, still struggling just to breathe, was leveling at him. "Bye, pal. See you in hell."

Another soundless shot, and Hal knelt beside the bleeding corpse. He fished in Rick's pocket and found the key to Charlie's handcuffs.

"Grab the laptop and the professor," Hal ordered, handing off the key to one of the other three men. "I drugged him about an hour ago so he should come easy enough."

**The dream was of Amita and Don. The sunlight was so bright behind them that Charlie could barely see their faces, but he knew that they were smiling. Then the dream disintegrated into a thousand tiny numbers, all of them glowing as they fell away in waterfalls of light and clattering sound.**

He awoke on a cold floor. Disoriented, Charlie pushed himself up, groaning at the ache in his back as he sat up and held his head with one palm. After what seemed like a long time, the fuzz surrounding his brain finally dissipated and he felt more alert.

"Hey, he's moving around in there," a voice said, and Charlie looked up quick enough to see that someone had been looking through the door's small square window. He was in an empty room.

Charlie stiffly made his way to his feet and stumbled over to the door. He tried the handle and found it locked. Charlie stood on his toes so he could look through the high window. A grizzled face with bloodshot eyes appeared on the other side and Charlie wheeled backwards, unable to contain a gasp. Laughter erupted beyond the door. With a deep scowl he approached the door again. His brain reached for an explanation to his current situation and came up with nothing. He was about to bang on the door when it suddenly slid open. Hal and three other men Charlie didn't know were standing there, looking at him like a bunch of cats with a cornered mouse.

Hal motioned with his hand for the professor to come out. "Come on, Charlie. You've got a program to finish."

Charlie backed further into the room. His dark eyes darted from man to man. The three he didn't know had lost their smiles, and that worried the young professor greatly.

"What's going on? Where's Rick? Where's Carlisle?" Charlie asked. "Where are we?"

Hal gave a nod and within seconds, two sets of large hands grabbed for Charlie, snatching hold of his arms even as he shrank back, and despite his protests, he was hauled out of the room.

"Rick's dead and Carlisle's probably looking for where his pet genius ran off to," Hal answered once Charlie was standing under him. The professor was sandwiched between his hired help.

Charlie's eyes widened.

_Rick's dead? _

"I don't understand."

"That's cause most of it didn't concern you," Hal said irritably. "Look, Carlisle fired me this morning. He said I wasn't worth taking to France, so I decided to take myself a little parting gift. I just wish I could've seen their faces. Christ they must be pissed."

"Are you crazy?" Charlie tried to tug away from the hard pressure on his arms, but his silent captors only squeezed. Charlie clenched his teeth.

"You know that _hurts_," he pointed out heatedly to one of his captors.

The man ignored him.

"You're going to finish that program you've been slavin' away at and make me some money. Then I'm thinking… video ransom," Hal said, as if the idea literary had just come to him.

Charlie felt a spark of hope.

Hal laughed, seeing it light up the mathematician's eyes.

"Of course, I'm not sending it to _your _family. I'm sending it to Carlisle. He'll pay to get you back for Margo's sake, if anything," Hal explained.

Charlie shook his curly head in disbelief. "You can't possibly think this is going to end well for you."

"Sure it will. And don't worry, I'm not really going to fork you back over to those snobs," Hal confided. "I'd rather kill you. I'm sick of them always getting what they want. Aren't you?"

Hal looked hard at Charlie, who returned a surly glare of his own. "Finish this thing _right_ or I swear to god I'll make sure you suffer before you die. Or hey, maybe if you do it right, I might let you live to serve another day. Deal?"

**Charlie was shoved into another room. Its only contents were Margo's laptop, a table, and a folding chair. **

"Get busy," Hal snapped. "You got until I think you've had enough time, and then I'm going to start _motivating_ you."

The door was closed and locked.

Ignoring the laptop, Charlie approached the door. It wasn't a sliding door like the one to the room he'd woken up in. It was the common kind with a spring-loaded lock. Charlie stood on his toes again and looked out the door's little window. There was nothing and nobody on the other side. Just an empty hallway.

Despite his good luck, the mathematician scowled. _They really think a locked door suffices?_

**Unlike Carlisle, Hal had_ no_ leverage to make Charlie stay.**

The professor knelt and began undoing his shoelaces. His mind wandered back to the time when Rick and Jacob had made him swap into the clothes and new shoes he currently wore. It seemed like forever ago.

He thought even further back; to the time that Larry had taught him a trick at Princeton.

* * *

"_Charles, what's wrong?" Professor Fleinhardt asked, concern making him forget where he was going because his student obviously was in distress._

_Charlie shuffled, embarrassed. "I um, sort of need in this room. I think I left a book in there I need tonight, but I can't find anyone with a key that works."_

"_Oh, well give me your shoelace," the professor said, dismissing Charlie's worry as a pointless venture. _

_Minutes later, Charlie watched as Dr. Fleinhardt fed the lace through the door, just above the lock. He worked it until it looped around, and within just a few more minutes, the door clicked open._

_Charlie grinned, impressed and relieved. "That was—awesome—thanks! Where'd you learn to do that?"_

_The professor smiled as he flipped on the lights of the lecture hall so Charlie could quickly find the book. "That, my young friend, is need-to-know information."_

* * *

**Getting out of the room was easy. Finding his way out of the building was a whole different story.**

Charlie closed the door behind him and crept up the hallway, his nerves on edge with the fear that at any moment, Hal or another goon would appear.

_Step One: Get out of here. _

_Step Two: Get AWAY from here. _

_Step Three: Call Don._

Plan in mind, Charlie rounded into a new hall and almost laughed in relief when he saw an unlit EXIT sign ahead. Then he heard yelling and the sound of doors opening and slamming.

"Hey!" Hal was behind him.

Charlie gasped. He ran. He burst through the exit door and out into the blinding desert sunlight. He stumbled only a second and started running again, having no idea where to go and zero time to think about it. He saw a dusty road and a few parked vehicles.

Then he was tackled and slammed into the cracked dirt he'd been running so desperately across.

"You stupid little bastard!" Hal held Charlie by the back of his hoodie. "I might have to kill you. Just let me catch my breath. I'm going to beat the shit out of you. Where the hell did you think you were going? How'd you get loose? Carlisle wasn't kidding when he pegged you for an escape artist. Christ."

Charlie tried to shrug out of the hoodie but found himself shoved to the ground for his efforts. He tasted blood. Several patches of his skin stung from harsh contact with the dirt.

"Be still and I might not break every bone in your legs," Hal snarled. "You don't need legs to do math. Just what the hell were you thinking? Nevermind. Don't answer that. Don't open your _mouth _unless it's to scream."

Hal released Charlie, and the professor felt the hands of two other men. They snatched him up off the ground. To his horror, Hal was handed a baseball bat.

"You don't need legs to do math," the man repeated, his face livid. "Didn't I tell you if you tried something I'd _break_ something?"

**Utilizing the personalized GPS she'd installed earlier that year, Margo had no problem tracking down her laptop. Hal's hideout turned out to be an abandoned one story building, some kind of old storage facility perhaps. It was well out of the city, close to the desert. **

Margo's heart hammered in her chest. She walked between her father and Jacob. Ahead of them were twenty-two of Carlisle's most loyal men—men like Rick. They brandished everything from guns to crowbars, and they wanted blood for their friend's death.

**A short gun battle ensued before Hal's army of three was overwhelmed. They were dragged out outside and beaten to death by about half of Carlisle's men. The other half hunted down Hal. They found him trying to escape through a back door. He was brought before Carlisle, who waited in the building's foyer with his daughter and his oldest friend, Jacob.**

"You thought you could take something that belongs to me and I'd just let it go?" Carlisle asked, stepping into the circle of grinning, blood-splattered men that had formed around Hal.

"I was bringing him back," Hal claimed, now stripped of his guns and other weapons. Terror was alive in his eyes. He knew exactly what they were going to do to him, once they got their pet math geek back.

"Is he dead?" Margo fretted with her hands.

Hal shook his head. "Your boy toy's not hurt. I mean—we might've roughed him up some. He almost got away so I, uh…I had to show him what happens to cocky little math geeks who don't do what they're told. I just put the little freak in his place is all. H-He's fine."

Carlisle figured nerves were making Hal's brain shut down. "Is that a fact? You put him in his place?"

Hal nodded. "After this experience he'll never put a toe out of line again. Look—I admit I screwed up. I was just pissed off about being fired is all."

"Daddy—" Margo feared the worst "—what if he's not the same? What if they broke him?"

"Where is he?" Carlisle asked.

"He's not broken," Hal insisted. "His brain still works."

"I said, 'where is he'?" Carlisle repeated, this time letting the menace seep through in his words.

Hesitating only a moment more, Hal swore quietly to himself. He'd been so stupid. He could've just joined up with some other racket. Now it was all going to hell. He led the family past the corpses of his comrades and down the hall. He unlocked a sliding door, shoved it aside, and there was Charlie.

**A small part of him entertained the idea that Don was at the door, but even when he cracked open an eye and saw that it was Carlisle, Charlie felt relief. **

**It startled him badly that he felt relief. **

"See? He's okay," Hal said. "Get up, Charlie."

But before Charlie could even think about moving, Margo was all over him, fussing and checking. Both Jacob and she knelt beside him as other members of Carlisle's syndicate filed into the room.

They tried to get Charlie up, but the moment he gasped, Margo and Jacob were quick to ease the professor back to the ground.

"What? What's wrong!?" Margo panicked, her hands hovering and she was afraid to touch him. She'd never seen his face so drawn with pain. Was he sick? Was he dying?

"My ankle," Charlie managed, clenching his jaw against the sharp pain.

Jacob did a quick check of Charlie's leg and let out a low whistle.

"What'd he use on you, a crowbar?" Jacob asked. He looked to Carlisle. "Your boy here's not gonna be able to walk with this."

"Is that all? Are you sure?" Margo pressed, relieved when Charlie gave a vigorous nod. Still, he had plenty of cuts and scrapes and bruises on his face and hands. It made her sick to see him hurt.

Carlisle smiled with amusement at Hal, who looked nothing like the tough as nails enforcer he'd employed for over a year. The guy looked ready to piss himself. Suppressing a chuckle, Carlisle switched his focus to his future son-in-law. He stood over Charlie and gave the suffering young man a kind expression.

But Charlie recognized the malice prowling in those green eyes. Whatever Carlisle was thinking of, it was something horrible, and it was probably something about Hal's immediate future.

Margo carded her hand through Charlie's curly hair in a soothing gesture. She held him in her arms while Jacob carefully took off his shoe. Ironically, it was the same shoe Charlie had used to make his failed escape, evidenced by the haphazard way the shoelace was threaded, missing half the holes.

"Charlie," Carlisle smiled again when those wide, dark eyes snapped to attention, "I know you're in pain, so I won't bother you with too much. I need two things from you right now, got it?"

Charlie grimaced hard as the shoe slid off from his swollen foot, and nodded.

Approval colored Carlisle's voice. "Good. First, I want you to acknowledge something. If it wasn't for me, for this family, you'd be screwed. I can tell you without a doubt that he would've piece by piece beaten you to a pulp, kid. Now, are you grateful that the family didn't leave you to these animals?"

"Yes," Charlie answered, not even having to think about it.

Pleased, Carlisle spared a look at the ugly way Charlie's ankle was twisted. Jacob was busy easing the sock off of Charlie's foot, and Margo couldn't tear her eyes away from it.

The injury didn't look life-altering to Carlisle. If anything, the boy would be on crutches for a while, which was good. They could even strap him into a wheelchair. It'd help the family keep their new addition under thumb. The kid wouldn't be running off while he accepted his new lot in life, or at the airport for that matter.

"Second," Carlisle continued. "I want to know about this. Who did this?" He gestured at the injured foot.

Charlie turned his head, facing Hal and looking the man coldly in the eyes.

"_Him,"_ Charlie said, and even Carlisle appreciated the hatred his little professor was reflecting in those dark, dark eyes.

**The desert was hot. The cliff started broad and rose higher, almost to a point, and this where Hal was forced to go. He limped to the narrow top of the cliff. Behind him was nothing but endless blue sky. Below him, **_**far**_** below him, was the waiting embrace of the desert.**

**His pain-filled eyes beseeched Carlisle and the rest of the syndicate's top hierarchy. His shouts for mercy fell on deaf ears. A small crowd watched him, standing about their sleek vehicles. **

**Didn't he understand? This was mercy. It was a swift death. It was a Traitor's Leap.**

Seated on the open gate of Jacob's black truck, Charlie stared down at his feet and tried to block out everything that was going on around him. He felt overwhelmed by the jeers at Hal, the heated snap of the wind against his nose and ears, the pain in his ankle, and especially the horrible feeling that everything that had happened over the last week, and was about to happen, was entirely his fault.

At the same time, he wanted Hal dead. Not just because Hal had slammed a baseball bat into his leg and then laughed as Charlie had writhed on the ground, but because the man had also killed Rick.

And that _really_ confused Charlie. Rick had killed a classroom full of innocent students. He'd caused them terrifying deaths, so why did Charlie feel so terrible? A gnawing sense of emptiness threatened to grow and overshadow his thoughts.

_I'm never getting out of this. I'm never going home._

A gun was pressed into his hands, and Charlie looked up at the man who'd given it to him.

The man looked like a frat boy. His brown hair was somewhat shaggy, and his eyes were as green as Carlisle's. "Dad said if you've never shot a gun before there's no shame. Just point it at the bastard's feet—nature'll take care of the rest. He'll jump or fall trying to avoid it. It happens every time."

"He wants me to kill someone?" Charlie remembered the photographs on Carlisle's office wall, and realized the man was Margo's brother, Greg.

_He's here. Which means he's not… but is someone else watching Dad then?_

There was no way to know. There was no way to risk it.

"Hey, he's letting you do the honors," Greg said, a hint of warning in his voice. "It's clear you're no killer, but think about what this guy did to you, what he was _going_ to do to you. You gonna feel sorry for some sleazeball who treated you like that? Shit, I hardly know you and I'd kill him for that stunt."

Taken aback, Charlie looked up at the man. His brow wrinkled. "...Why?"

"Cause I know Rick liked you," Greg explained. "He said you were really growin' on him. He took it serious that it was his job to keep you from running off or getting hurt. You're lucky you still got the rest of us, the family, to watch your back now. You help us with that math magic of yours and we'll keep you safe from sleazes like Hal. He was never really one of us anyway. More like hired help and he knew it."

The gun felt like a dead weight in Charlie's hands. "I already have a family."

"Oh yeah? Well, consider yourself adopted. They didn't fight hard enough for you," Greg sneered. "Look, it's hot as hell out here. You want me to help you aim or what?"

Charlie swallowed. His stomach was twisting in knots. He craved the garage and his boards and the chalk and the numbers. If he closed his eyes he could see them.

"Law abiding citizen to the end, huh?" Greg snorted. "Don't sweat it. You'll be like my little-brother-in-law soon, right? Let me handle it."

Greg took the gun from Charlie. He aimed, fired, and Hal was knocked backwards, crying out in pain and fear as he almost fell from the cliff's narrow edge. The bullet had caught him in the right shoulder, right where Greg had intended it.

"Next one should get him," Greg Sumner growled vengefully.

Charlie quickly looked away, covering his ears as the sounds of the first gunshot still seemed to echo. He flinched when a large hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"I want you to watch," drawled the friendly, almost fatherly voice, but the threat was there.

Charlie forced himself to face Hal's direction. His attention, however, was on Carlisle.

The man stood beside the truck, a hand firmly anchoring Charlie to the moment. He wore a satisfied smile on his face.

**That night Charlie found himself in Margo's room, since his still, if he'd heard correctly, contained Rick's body. A new enforcer, one Charlie had never seen before, sat beside the door resolutely focused on a text message. The only light in the room came from the city outside. The curtains were drawn back, showing the beautiful nightscape of Vegas as it casted a dim glow over the bedroom.**

"Charlie, don't worry about him being mad at you," Margo assured, brushing a stray curl from his face before handcuffing his left wrist to a piece of the headboard. "Daddy knows you'll never be a killer. He's got enough of those anyway. There's only one of you."

Margo circled to the other side of the bed and crawled in beside him, lying on her side as Charlie lay on his back.

The mathematician kept his dark eyes on her every move, regarding her warily.

"He'll kill me as soon as he gets what he wants," Charlie said, once she was settled and more likely to listen. He searched her face, looking for any trace of comprehension. "Margo, he's going to kill me at some point. It's a statistical certainty. I'm far too risky to keep around. Surely you understand where this is going."

Margo gave him a fond smile. For the first night since he'd come to the casino, she did not care that Charlie insisted on sleeping with all of his clothes on, even that damned gray hoodie. She was just happy to have him. She'd come so close to losing him.

"It is _not_ a certainty, only a slim probability," Margo replied lightly, moving to curl up against him. Her arm slipped across his chest beneath the covers. "I mean, I guess if you try to strangle me or something nuts he'd have to kill you. Don't you understand, Charlie? _You're_ what we want. We want you in the family. I guess it just doesn't seem real to you yet. Sometimes it doesn't to me either, but it's true."

A long beat of silence, and she added, "I was—I was so scared yesterday when we found Rick—when I couldn't find you. I knew you weren't the one who'd killed him. Then we couldn't find Hal and I realized—I was scared of what he was doing to you. He's… you know those pictures Daddy showed you? Some of that's Hal's handiwork."

Charlie shifted uncomfortably. It was difficult to move because one of the professor's hands was stuck to the bed, and Margo's head rested against his arm. This close, it was easy to see her blond roots in her mop of dyed brown hair.

Margo's blue eyes stared up at her acquired fiancé adoringly. Her arm constricted around him. "Charlie, you need to know that I'd die without you. I thought I'd never see you again. I was so scared."

"Then… don't you understand?" Charlie asked. He kept his tone gentle as he implored her reason. "Margo, that's exactly how _my_ family feels."

"They're not your family anymore." She frowned. "Don't talk about them, not ever again, okay? Just—Just be quiet. Be still, Charlie."

Margo sank against him, burying her face into the fabric of his hoodie. Her grip was possessive and tight, and he could tell that she was softly crying, but whether they were tears of relief or hurt he wasn't sure.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight again," Margo assured. "You'll be safe. I promise."

* * *

**Almost to the (bitter?) end it seems. I will go back tomorrow and check to see if I missed any errors or need to fix any sentences. Hope you're liking this story so far. =)**


	9. Seethe

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Numb3rs.

* * *

UFO

Creepy

Ratio

Underfoot

Parasite

**Consider Yourself Adopted 9/10**

* * *

"He's sort of shell-shocked is the only way I can describe it. I mean, I don't think he's gone nuts, but his brain seems stuck on autopilot," Jacob tried to explain. He handed Carlisle a notebook that was filled from cover to cover with strings of mathematical gibberish. Even the back and front covers had the incomprehensible symbols scribbled all over them.

Carlisle, seated at his desk, flipped through the notebook. "What is this supposed to be?"

"It's what he's been doing," Jacob said.

"Does it have anything to do with the program?"

Jacob shrugged, scratching his large belly. "Margo said it's over her head, but she doesn't think so."

Carlisle contemplated the notebook, the mathematician, and the schedule the family was trying to keep. After a few minutes of thinking, the syndicate leader stood up and straightened his suit.

"Get Charlie a wheelchair. Bring him down a few floors where our less fortunate guests are staying," Carlisle ordered. "Maybe a visit to them will help the kid get refocused."

**On the twenty-eighth floor of the casino there were many rooms, but only a few of them were used, and all of these had been sound proofed long ago.**

Carlisle gently pushed the wheelchair up the hall. The creak of its wheels and the tense quiet of the hallway did nothing to calm Charlie's anxiety. Worst of all, he was alone with Margo's father and once again confined to the chair. His wrists were handcuffed to its slim arms. His legs, including the injured one, were supported and restrained by the front rigging of the chair. To say that the professor felt vulnerable would be a gross understatement.

"Charlie, I hear you're having trouble staying focused on the program."

Charlie's heart was racing. He was trying not to panic. The elevator had made such a short trip down.

* * *

"_Are those people really still alive? Are they here, somewhere?"_

"_Yeah. They're a couple floors below this one." Rick gave Charlie a funny look. "You're not thinking about doing something stupid, like rescuing them, huh Sherlock?"_

* * *

"Did you hear me, Charlie?" Carlisle prompted again. "Son, are you having trouble keeping focused?"

"I am," Charlie hesitated, but admitted.

"I think I have a solution to this problem," Carlisle continued.

He took Charlie to a room where one of the people that the young mathematician instantly recognized from the pictures he'd been shown over a week ago was strapped to a stainless steel table. Blood was dripping from the table. The carpet in the room bore old, dark stains, as did the walls and ceiling. The man on the table was moaning. He was a mess of a human. There was something awful and broken about both the noises he emitted and the way he twitched. He was heavily injured and naked.

The moment he'd seen the man, Charlie had gasped and reflexively tried to physically get away from the gruesome sight. He only succeeded in violently jerking his wrists against the handcuffs and his legs against the straps that secured them. The movement sent a splintering pain through his broken ankle, and Charlie cried out.

The sudden noise terrified the man on the table. He screamed.

Carlisle's hands moved to grip Charlie by the shoulders in a silent command for the mathematician to be still.

Charlie shivered under the man's heavy palms. His ankle throbbed, and one of his wrists was really hurting. His whole body was shaking with adrenaline and fear. Charlie closed his eyes but the numbers were not there. There was only a swallowing blackness that frightened him almost as much as the man suffering only feet away. He opened his eyes again, and slowly got his breathing back under control.

"That's right. Calm down, Charlie. I didn't bring you down here so you could hurt yourself," Carlisle said, a little amused. "Let me tell you about that man there. He thought it'd be a good plan to skim off my profits, you see. He stole from me—from the _family_—for years before Jacob caught on to him."

"It's a fact that our dear friend Hal got off easy in comparison, yeah? After all, he killed Rick, my top enforcer, and worse—he kidnapped you, my future son-in-law," Carlisle continued. "What he took from me was much more valuable than a stack of cash, so why, you might wonder, did Hal get off with such a quick death? Any ideas, Charlie?"

The professor quickly shook his head. His gaze was on his knees, but Charlie could hear the man moving. The smell of blood and other fluids couldn't be ignored either.

"Time, Charlie. We're running out of time. We've got to be on the move to Europe, so you see, whatever's keeping you from doing your job, I just don't have time for it. Got it? I'm hoping a little _time_ with Joey here will help you get your focus back."

"You're leaving me?" Charlie whispered.

Carlisle squeezed his shoulders and released them, reaching for something that had been dropped into the pocket on the back of Charlie's chair. "I'll be back. But first you're gonna get a good idea of the risk you're putting your father in by wasting time with things like _this_."

He tossed the notebook full of equations on the floor so that it slid across the room, bumping against one of the stainless steel table's legs.

"I'm—I'm sorry. Sometimes I can't help it." Charlie watched the blood on the floor begin to bleed into a corner of the notebook. He couldn't even remember what he'd been working on in it. "I'll…" _try harder_, he wanted to say, but he felt so afraid it was hard to keep enough air to speak.

Not for the first time, his heart absolutely ached for Don, for anyone, to _help_ him.

At the same time, he wanted them as far away from Margo and her people as possible.

"See? It's working already. You're making sense," Carlisle said with a grin. "Sit tight. I'll be back when I'm sure you've had time to rediscover your appreciation of the schedule we're on."

Carlisle left. Several minutes later another man came in. He wore goggles to protect his black eyes. His graying hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He wore jeans and a shirt.

"Hi, Charlie," the man said, smiling as he reached for a long, thin knife. There was an entire tray of torture tools for him to pick from. "I don't think we've formally met, but my name's Slitter. Not my real name of course, but it fits."

Slitter demonstrated his skill by quickly slitting the man on the table open, beginning at the waistline and going all the way up to his victim's sternum. The raw scream that only increased with every dig of the knife made Charlie duck his head and close his eyes tight, but he had no way to cover his ears.

"Hey, Charlie," Slitter called, tugging his gloves higher up his arms. "The boss said to give you a good show. If you're not gonna watch, I'm just gonna have to take my time and wait for you. I'll kill this poor bastard quick if you'll suck it up and open those pretty brown eyes for me… but if you'd rather, I'll drag it out until you're ready. Kind of cruel of you though, don't you think?"

**Almost an hour later, the man's entrails were literally hanging out on either side of the table. The man Carlisle had called "Joey" was dead.**

Charlie didn't even realize he was out of the room and back on the thirty-first floor until suddenly, somehow, he found himself in Carlisle's office. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there. The crime boss was at his desk typing away at a laptop when Charlie finally realized he was no longer in the room with Joey's corpse.

As if sensing that Charlie was finally mentally present in the room, Carlisle looked up from the screen, adjusting his square-cut glasses as he scrutinized the professor.

Even without the restraints, Charlie felt confined to the chair. The things he'd seen were replaying over and over in his mind and paralyzed both his brain and his will to move.

He'd tried so hard not to look away—to help _end_ it.

Calloused hands grasped his head, and Carlisle lifted Charlie's face so he could look into his future son-in-law's eyes. The crime boss used his thumbs to wipe away what was left of the younger man's drying tears.

"What you saw today is what Hal deserved," Carlisle said, his tone regretful.

He released Charlie's face and removed the handcuffs. He then examined the raw skin of the professor's wrists as he spoke. "He should've suffered for crossing this family, but there just wasn't time. When you're pressed for time, as I am, you have to make decisions you don't always like."

Stepping back, Carlisle looked down at him. "Charlie, I don't like the idea of dragging your father into that room to get you focused. Based on you, I have a feeling he's probably a good guy. He doesn't deserve what Joey got, does he?"

Charlie shook his head violently. The shock of what he'd seen, of Rick's death, of his students' deaths, of Margo and Hal and everything that had happened, cleared from his brain at the idea of Alan being sliced and pulled apart.

"Please—_please _leave my father out of this." Charlie's dark eyes were beseeching and terrified.

Carlisle smiled. He circled behind Charlie and gripped the wheelchair's handle bars. "I didn't enjoy what had to be done today. Don't make me do something worse. I like you, Charlie, but I've got the whole family to consider. Understand?"

Charlie did not understand. He would never understand the warped way these people functioned, how they mixed evil and love so fluidly, but he nodded, wanting more than anything to get the man to stop talking about his dad.

"…_when he talks to you, make sure you say something back, and not something stupid. You got it?" _Rick had said.

"I'll get the program done," Charlie assured as he was pushed through Mrs. Strickland's office and out into the hall.

"Good. That's good, Charlie. That's all I want from you right now. And Charlie?" Carlisle waited for those dark eyes to look back at him. "This is not to be shared with Margo. She's been told that we're eating lunch together, and I want it to stay that way. In fact, let's make it a reality. That should give you time to settle down before you get back on the job. …Aren't you grateful that I'm giving you this second chance?"

Charlie nodded again and said, "Yes. Thank you."

Charlie's stomach roiled at the thought of food. He felt small and pathetic with his leg messed up and Carlisle looming over him, pushing him along with absolute control of not only his life, but of the lives of everyone else it seemed.

* * *

**The Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department provided the FBI with a room to work from and agreed to assist both them and the LAPD. The team and Lt. Walker, plus a few other cops, stood around a table covered in files on the Sumner family's activities and profiles of their known members.**

"Facial recognition pegged our kidnapper as a guy named Patrick "the Fist" Fordel. He's been implicated in over thirty murders but there's never been any evidence strong enough to put him away," Colby said.

David scanned a flowchart of the Sumner syndicate's known hierarchy and found Patrick Fordel's mug shot and name listed near the top. It was labeled _probable hit man/operational enforcer. _

_Guess the LAPD can add "kidnapper" and "domestic terrorist" to that list, _David thought to himself.

"I've been digging through everything that's ever been on this Margo Sumner girl and I think I've just about got her pinned," Megan announced to the team. "I talked to one of her past boyfriends from Clarke County High and believe me he had some stories to tell. Possessive would be an understatement. She tried to micromanage every aspect of his life."

"How'd he break up with her?" Colby asked.

"His parents got a restraining order," Megan said. "Still, he said he'd wake up at night and see her standing in the front yard for almost a _year._ Lucky for him, Margo's family apparently moved to LA."

"Where they stayed," David assumed, "until like Lt. Walker said, the FBI ran them out."

Don said, "So what do you think about this girl? What's her deal?"

"Well, based on her history I think this is a classic presentation of 'obsessed loved'," Megan replied. "Don, if that's the case, then simply put, she's obsessed with your brother. She took him because in her twisted little mind, possession and love is the same thing."

"And the fact that he's a math genius is just a bonus?" Colby asked.

Megan drew a circle on a legal pad and divided it into four sections, creating a pie chart. In each section of the pie she wrote one of the following words: _Attraction, Anxious, Obsessive, and Destructive._

"All right. This circle represents the phases of obsessed love. It starts here with 'Attraction'." Megan pointed at the word. "She met Charlie, probably as her teacher, thought he was pretty cute, and got hooked on him."

"Okay—but I remember kids having crushes on teachers when I was growing up," David interrupted. "They didn't go blowing up classrooms and kidnapping people."

"This isn't a harmless little crush we're talking about," Megan continued, sliding her finger over to the next piece of the pie: _Anxious_. "When Charlie failed to return her affection, Margo started stalking him to see just who and what he was giving his attention to. She's probably been following him for months. …Maybe longer."

"Which means she knows her competition," Don said. "Amita and Larry are with Dad and half a dozen agents. Still though…why didn't she attack Amita? You know, eliminate what she perceives as Charlie's reason for not noticing her feelings?"

Megan was unsure. "She must've thought that Charlie was just being nice to Amita or that the relationship was only one-sided. Either way, let's just be glad she's left Amita out of it because typically women like Margo _do_ eliminate the other woman. Of course, if you think about it, she has eliminated Amita and, well, all of us. She's isolated him from us."

"Let me guess, when we get to the 'Obsessive' part of the pie that's when the crazy really begins to come out," Colby said, remembering the grisly scene they'd found at CalSci.

Megan nodded. "She hit a point where she _had _to have him, so she took him. Obsession is ultimately about control. Now that she's got Charlie, she has total control over him."

"Well, to a point," David said. His dark eyes were on the last piece of the pie, the pieced labeled _Destructive_. "What if Charlie refuses to play her game?"

Megan glanced at Don. "It depends. She might refuse to give up, or get depressed to the point of killing herself. And," the agent sighed, "there's also the chance she might become enraged at him."

"She could kill him," Don said, silently reading the word _Destructive_ over and over.

"It's possible," Megan admitted. "But she's an intimacy seeker. She thinks Charlie's her _soul mate_ and they're _meant to be together_. Instead of getting angry at him, she'll spend time trying to make him understand that he belongs with her. She'll try to socialize him into her world."

Don said, an edge in his voice, "So she rips him out of his life and inserts him into her own private bubble where she calls all the shots."

"That's the gist of it," Megan said.

"It looks like tonight we'll finally be getting a little insight into what that bubble looks like," Lt. Walker said, grinning. "The mole, Rudy, made contact. He's settling into a room at the Starcoast Casino. He hasn't seen anyone that fits your brother's description yet, but he's hoping to find out more at this meeting going down tonight around 8pm."

* * *

**The meeting at 8pm was more of a large cocktail party. It took place in one of the Starcoast Casino's private party lounges. The room was a wide open space complete with a bar and a ceiling so polished it reflected the people mingling below. **

The highest members in both the Creswell and the Sumner syndicate gathered in clusters, holding drinks and genuinely enjoying this last chance to do business before the Sumners left the country.

"You know, the Creswells are the only other syndicate that Daddy trusts. He started out as a Creswell. He was one of their racket managers while he was still in college," Margo was saying as she walked through the room. She gave friendly acknowledgements to all of the partiers, and led Charlie to a group of leather couches where only a few other people were seated.

Her dress was slimming and black, just like every other woman's in the room.

Likewise, Charlie was just as dressed up as all the men. The clothes Margo had told him to change into were really nice and obviously expensive—black dress shoes, dress pants, and an open jacket, with a white shirt tucked in beneath. Charlie blended in perfectly with the other people in the room. Well, except for the fact he was using crutches to walk and had a white cast starting at the middle of his bare foot and running straight up beneath his clothes to his knee.

The syndicate's doctor was trying to avoid surgery since the family was so close to leaving the country, and Margo had assured the mathematician several times that if the whole thing left him crippled; she'd still love him anyway.

**The mole's camera was hidden in his jacket. Rudy was dressed suavely, as were all the other people in the room. **

**In a van parked near the casino, Don and his team watched and listened. **

**Don searched every corner of the screen for his brother, but the people in the room were all dressed up and difficult to differentiate. There were probably a hundred folks in there, and plenty of armed guards.**

Rudy casually made his rounds, pausing to talk to the people he knew. He slowly but surely made his way to a knot of couches where he saw a young man sitting with his leg, covered in a bright white cast, elevated on an ottoman. Aside from the cast, the guy's curly hair had caught the mole's attention.

"**That's him," Don said, almost unable to breathe. "That's **_**Charlie.**_**"**

"**Yes!" David grinned.**

"Hey, Rudy. I didn't know you were gonna be here," the man identified as Greg Sumner, Margo's older brother, spoke.

The mole greeted him, and after a few minutes of chatting, motioned towards Charlie. "_Holy shit,_ is that the guy on TV!?"

Greg nodded. "Yeah, that's Charlie. He's some sort of math genius."

"No shit. He's been all over the news for like a week. …What's with that leg?"

Greg scoffed. "He tried to run off from somebody. At least we don't have to worry about escape attempts anymore."

The mole laughed. "Hey, is that your sister? I've seen some old pictures but I've never met her."

"Oh, well come on. I'll introduce you," Greg offered.

Of all the people in the room, Charlie seemed to be the only one not saying a word, but his dark eyes were following the conversation.

A small group of people sat with him. Curled to Charlie's left side was the woman Don's team had identified as Margo Sumner. Her head rested on Charlie's shoulder and she held his hand. A man identified as Jacob Minor was seated to Charlie's right. His arm was thrown across the back of the couch, just above Charlie's head.

"Margo, this is Rudy Ling. He manages the lower west side for the Creswells," Greg introduced. "This is my little sister, Margo. And this guy here is Charlie."

**Charlie looked up at the mole, and once again the team had the uncanny feeling that the young mathematician was looking straight at them.**

_**Hang in there, buddy, **_**Don thought. He frowned at the stress reflecting in his brother's face.**

Greg and the mole took a seat on the couch across from where Margo, Charlie, and Jacob sat.

"We were just talking about how to get Charlie to the airport. I was all for shaving his head, making him look like one of those cancer kids," Jacob laughed.

"I already told you that no one is cutting his hair." Margo let go of Charlie's hand and ran her fingers through the curly hair, needing to assure herself that she could.

Irritated, Charlie tilted his head away from the contact and scowled at his feet to avoid the embarrassment of all these people staring at him while she treated him like some life-size doll.

"I thought the plan was to put him on the jet," Greg said, confused.

"Well it was, but the damn Italians insisted on that asset, too, and weren't willing to wait on it," Jacob explained. "Hey, I know. Quite a while back we moved a girl by sticking her in a coffin. It got put in with the luggage just like everything else. Of course, she was dead, but we could add little air holes and maybe even sneak someone down to check up on him."

Charlie's expression was so shocked and horrified at the prospect that the people sitting around him laughed.

"Aw, come on now." Jacob gave Charlie's hair a ruffle, which the mathematician ducked out from under. "You're not scared of dark—scary—enclosed spaces—are you, Chuck?"

"Don't call me that," Charlie snapped, giving the man next to him a fleeting, dark-eyed glare before fixing his eyes back on the visible part of his cast.

Jacob snickered and let his arm drop down from the back of couch, draping it affectionately across Charlie's shoulders. "It's a great idea. Solves the problem, doesn't it? You think I should go and pitch it to Carlisle, Charlie?"

Charlie shuddered, his eyes closing and little lines of worry creasing his brow.

"C'mon, Jake. You'll get him upset, and then… you know," Greg gave the older man a meaningful look.

Rudy asked, his tone curious and amused as he grinned, "Wait. What happens if you get him upset?"

"He just kind of shuts down," Margo clarified, looking at Charlie worriedly. "It makes Daddy mad. He loves Charlie, of course, but I guess to him if there's business to get done it's a little like having a frozen computer."

"Or a broken calculator," Jacob quipped.

"**These people are serious assholes," Colby said, thoroughly irritated at the way they were jerking his friend around. "When can we bust in there and let them pick on someone their own size?"**

"**We go in now and it'll be a bloodbath," Megan said, equally frustrated, but most of all worried about Charlie's leg. Were they torturing him physically?**

**Don wondered what his brother was thinking. Were the numbers there for him? Or was Charlie thinking of **_**them**_**—of Don's team. Surely Charlie knew they were coming, didn't he?**

Almost an hour passed, and then suddenly Charlie was summoned to limp over to where Carlisle stood with a raised glass. The room fell quiet.

"Every family has an oddball," Carlisle joked. "Meet mine. This is my future son-in-law, Charlie. We know it doesn't look like there's much to him, but Charlie here is one of the smartest people on the planet, and he's swept my daughter straight off her heels. It would please me greatly to see all of you present at their wedding. It'll be in Europe, so make plans to take a trip in your near future."

He pulled Charlie closer, tightening his grip.

"Smile, Charlie," Carlisle said, good-naturedly, and Don watched his little brother give the room the shadow of his smile.

Hearty congratulations came from around the room, and the guests turned back to their conversations, many of them now sneaking glances at the young man by Carlisle.

"**That's our oddball," Colby muttered. **

"**Okay, did he seriously say 'son-in-law'?" David asked.**

**Megan said. "Don, look at how Carlisle's monitoring Charlie. It's like he's constantly assessing everyone's interactions with your brother. The profile's right—they really are trying to socialize him into their world."**

**Don was beginning to **_**seethe.**_

When Charlie was directed to sit down with Carlisle and some of the others, the mole made his way closer, sitting with a group that was nearby.

His brother looked small beside the crime boss.

"—Yeah, Charlie, lighten up," said Greg Sumner. "All you have to do it concentrate on the program. We'll handle the rest."

"You never smile anymore, Charlie," Margo sighed.

**Don watched as Carlisle laid a heavy paw on his brother's shoulder and addressed the bowed, curly head. Before, Charlie had looked irritated, but now, sitting with Carlisle, Don thought his brother looked on edge.**

"Look son, it'll be easier when we're not stateside. Don't close up on me again. Prying you out wasn't something I enjoyed," Carlisle warned, and Margo gave her father a funny look. "You're going to snap out of this attitude and get things wrapped up. No sleep, no food, nada, until the program's done. You've got twenty-four hours. Clear?"

"But if you don't let me sleep, I won't be able to think… and…"

"Charlie, you can sleep all you want, once the project's finished, remember?" Carlisle asked.

"But I'm already so tired," Charlie replied, defeated by the knowledge.

**They watched Carlisle give Charlie a fatherly smile. ****It was a smile Don had seen Alan give a thousand times. On Carlisle's face, however, the smile seemed a parody, as creepy as a Halloween mask.**

"All right, Charlie. But when the sun's up so are you, until it's all done," Carlisle conceded. He looked at his daughter as if to say, _'See? I'm not completely heartless'._

"**I can't wait to see that bully's face when he's cuffed and wondering what the heck happened," Megan said, pissed off. She glanced at Don and found the other agent calm to the point that it made her nervous. **

**All of Don's attention was on the screen.**

**But in the back of his mind, he was already envisioning exactly how they would extract his brother—and how they would take down every person in that casino that had played a part in trying to take Charlie away from the people who loved and needed him, who actually had a _right_ to him.**

A couple of hours passed by and the room's occupants slowly dwindled in number. Charlie and Margo left as soon as Carlisle made his exit. Unfortunately, Rudy couldn't follow them, and Don watched his little brother limp out of the room with Margo and several other members of the Sumner syndicate.

Carlisle was smiling and speaking to Charlie again, much more amiably this time.

**However, Greg Sumner hung back and made it a point to walk the mole back to his own assigned room. ****When they reached the door, Greg snatched Rudy harshly by the arm.**

Startled, the mole said, "W-What!?"

"He's not your type, is he?"

"Who!?"

"Don't be cute," Greg Sumner warned in a whispered hiss. "I'm talking about Charlie. You seem pretty interested. You were watching him. See something you like?"

"**Damn. This guy might have made him," David said, and the team tensed, prepared for the mole to be revealed at any second for what he was. **

Startled, the mole shook his head. "Of course not! I don't swing that way, man."

"Good. Cause he's not going anywhere," Greg told him. "The last idiot that tried to slip off with him went cliff jumping."

"Hey, no problem. I don't traffic people," Rudy insisted. "I stick to things that don't talk back."

Greg gave a short laugh and a slight nod, releasing his grip on the mole's arm. "I'm hoping when we make the move to Europe the old man'll leave off the meat market, too. Moving people around gets complicated, if you know what I mean. Of course, keeping Charlie's been a slice of cake. Lucky for us the Feds must've given up him for dead."

"Yeah," the mole replied, a little shaky, and escaped into his room.

* * *

**The next chapter will be the last, but there might have to be an epilogue, too. Be warned of character death. (Rick and Hal need company in the character graveyard, right?) Thank you those of you who have been kind enough to leave reviews.**


	10. Lost

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Numb3rs.

* * *

UFO

Creepy

Ratio

Underfoot

Parasite

**Consider Yourself Adopted 10/10**

* * *

"I didn't even notice him driftin' off," Jacob said. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate Charlie.

The mathematician's head rested in the fold of his arms. Beside him, Margo's laptop sat open with a black screen. Both man and machine slept.

"Did he finish the project?" Carlisle asked, stepping further into Margo's room. His daughter's designer-made, packed suitcases were stacked by her dresser. It was a pity she was going to have to leave them. There was only time left for transferring people, not things.

"Not sure, Boss," Jacob admitted. "Want me to find out?"

Carlisle nodded and Jacob leaned over the professor, shaking Charlie by the shoulders.

"Hey. Time to wake up. Nap time's over."

Charlie groaned, sitting up only to fall back against the office chair. His red-rimmed eyes glared at Jacob.

"Well good morning, sweetheart!" Jacob greeted. He ruffled both sides of Charlie's curly head. "You look like you need more coffee. Want some more coffee, Professor?"

"What I need," Charlie grouched, knocking Jacob's hands away, "is for you to _go away_."

Two palms settled on his shoulders. Charlie flinched at the familiar weight of them and gripped the armrests of his chair. The realization that Carlisle was in the room drove the irritation right out of Charlie. A sickening twist of fear knotted in his stomach.

"What you need, Charlie," the fatherly tone drawled above him, "is to explain why you're sleeping on the job." The fingers constricted around his shoulders, digging in like a pair of vulture claws.

Charlie opened his mouth to answer, but his mind gave him nothing. What job? What was Carlisle talking about?

"Did you finish the program?" Jacob prompted. "Last time I asked, you said you were close. That was about an hour ago."

_Margo's program. _

_Right._

Charlie licked his lips. "Yes. I checked it several times—just like you wanted."

The edge in Carlisle's features melted away to satisfaction. "Is that a fact? You got it all finished and ready to go?"

Charlie nodded, too unnerved to trust his voice a second time.

"Well in that case, let's put it to work," Carlisle ordered, keeping his grip on Charlie's shoulders. "For your sake it better do the job. I like you, Charlie. It'll be a shame if this screws up—or you've gotten it in that brilliant head of yours to try and pull something."

"It _works_," Charlie assured, the words a little too high pitched. His fingers began to key in commands, but he hesitated. He swallowed and cleared his throat. "…Your daughter wanted to be here."

Carlisle dismissed his concern. "She's busy helping my secretary. You know what banks to hit and where to send my money. So let's see it happen. Run the program, Charlie."

Charlie put Margo's program to work. Within minutes, her process unlocked virtual doors and thousands of untraceable electronic bills were transferred to Carlisle's various accounts. The stolen amounts were so numerous and so trivial that they would take quite a while to catch the FBI's attention. In fact, the program was retroactively filing the withdrawals as overdrafts, bounced checks, and other commonly made mistakes.

Charlie watched the numbers rise and fall and felt betrayed by them. They were giving the Sumner syndicate the ability to not just pay off their debts, but to go anywhere and disappear—to leave the country and start a new life elsewhere.

_This is it,_ Charlie told himself, his face pale in the laptop screen's soft glow. _Now they can leave the country. Now it's too late for Don to find me._

The program concluded.

Defeated, Charlie said, "You can run it again, but the likelihood of being caught increases with every use."

Carlisle was unable to keep the smile from his face. "I'll wait some time before using it again. Besides, first I'm going to make sure this thing really worked and that you, Charlie, haven't tried to pull some high tech trick on the family."

Charlie tensed beneath the heavy hands that still anchored him to the office chair.

"Relax," Carlisle added. "If the program checks out, if Margo vouches for it, then you'll have my trust. I'll let you rest. Hell, I'll let you sleep from here to Marseilles. But until then, you and I are heading to my office to keep an eye on things, got it?"

The program wasn't what worried Charlie. It was solid. He'd crafted it perfectly from Margo's original plans. There was no way that Carlisle would ever be able to use it as an excuse to hurt Charlie's loved ones. But Charlie also knew he'd used up the last of his mental reserves.

At the party, Carlisle had told him to get some sleep, but Charlie had opted instead to stay up through the night and finish Margo's program. He'd been unable to sleep, too afraid of missing the twenty-four hour deadline the syndicate had given him. And besides that, Margo had been especially tipsy from all those martinis she'd sucked down at the party. He shuddered, trying to get the feel of her hands and the sound of her cloying voice out of his mind.

Charlie searched for a way to explain to Carlisle how tired he was, how much he needed a break from the man's insane, obsessive offspring, but nothing came from the slurry of his thoughts.

"I asked you a question, Charlie. If you haven't learned by now, I expect an answer."

Charlie frowned. He shook his head. "...I don't remember what you asked."

Carlisle released the professor's shoulders and looked to Jacob. "Get him to my office. Bring that wheelchair—just in case."**  
**

**Carlisle's gaze rarely left the screen as he sat in his office. He watched the substantial numbers in his accounts maintain their places. There was no sign of trouble. No hint of a trick. Margo had said the program was golden, so Carlisle called in favors and contacts. He paid off the family's debts. He gave a smug look of proprietorship to his future son-in-law.**

Seated in the wheelchair, Charlie was leaning forward with his head buried in both hands. He wasn't confined to the chair. His crutches were well within reach, but the professor didn't feel like being on his feet.

Through the haze of mind numbing fatigue, Charlie heard his name and looked up from his hands. The mathematician was so tired he'd caught himself tearing up like a frustrated child. It was humiliating.

Carlisle stood over his acquired professor. He offered a hand to help the younger man stand up.

Hesitating, Charlie looked into the syndicate leader's calculating gaze and found unexpected affinity lurking in those green eyes.

Carlisle pulled him up from the chair and passed Charlie his crutches. "The program's perfect."

Carlisle snapped his fingers in Charlie's face. The professor's normally sharp brown eyes were dulled and staring off into nothing. Charlie returned his attention to the crime boss and Carlisle continued.

"We're leaving earlier than I'd planned. There's nothing more for you to do, so I want you to rest while we finish tying up loose ends. Got it?"

Charlie's gaze lowered again as he nodded.

"And Charlie?" A calloused hand gripped him by the chin and lifted Charlie's face. Very unhappy, very dark and tired eyes met Carlisle.

The crime boss smiled. "You're a good son, Charlie. I'm glad to have you in this family. Now, follow me."

Carlisle led them out of his office and into Mrs. Strickland's. He took his future son-in-law over to the closest grouping of couches and gestured at the biggest one. "Go ahead. Get some rest."

In seconds Charlie was on the couch, his injured leg eased up as he rolled over to face away from Carlisle. He curled on his side and fell straight into sleep.

Carlisle adjusted his square-cut glasses with an air of self-satisfaction. _That's right, kid. Get comfortable. You aren't going anywhere. _

**Margo glanced around the room and huffed when she found the subject of her thoughts lying on a couch, arms and legs both curled up. The top of his head was pressed into the couch, but she could see most of his face. His expression was that of someone completely lost to the restful embrace of sleep.**

Margo felt warmth spread from her head to her toes at the sight of him sleeping so peacefully. He looked so at home.

"I think we put him in a coma," Jacob said from his spot on the couch across from Charlie's. The cushions were sagging under Jacob's considerable weight. "Time to get moving yet?"

Margo shook her head. "No. Daddy's still waiting on Greg to call. He thinks he's just about got all of the undercover cops pinned. I've got the bombs placed. When we get to the street I'll detonate them with a phone. I just hope the FBI's inside when it happens."

"Either way, they'll be distracted," Jacob grunted.

Margo carefully sat on the edge of the couch, in the space above Charlie's head. Her fingers stroked through his hair, over his shoulder, and across the curve of his back. He was so cute curled up like this and she loved the feel of him beneath her fingers. She couldn't wait for them to finally be alone together without Jacob or one of her father's other goons snooping around. The anticipation of spending the rest of her life with him, of being intimate, was enough to make Margo's face break out in a silly grin.

She wanted to kiss him all over, but at the same time, Margo wanted him to sleep. She hoped rest would put the spark back in his dark eyes. She missed his smile so much.

All of her plans were working out so perfectly. Her family was safe from the Italians, and soon they would be safe from the FBI. Most of all, she had Charlie. She had Charlie forever.

**The Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department was swarming with activity throughout the night. Blueprints of the Starcoast Casino were studied and plans were drawn to enter the premises, locate the professor, arrest the bad guys, and somehow end the day without any of the Starcoast's hundreds of patrons getting caught in the fray.**

**Alan Eppes arrived at daybreak with Larry and Amita flanking him. **

Don wondered if perhaps he shouldn't have called Alan. He walked past the room where his father and the CalSci professors watched a recording of the night before.

"Look at him. Look at his leg. Something's wrong. _They've broken his leg,"_ Alan exclaimed, equal parts horrified and outraged. Although the white cast was only visible where it wrapped around his son's bare foot, Alan could tell the thing went all the way up to Charlie's knee. It was easy to see how it bulged beneath the black fabric of his son's trousers.

Larry laid a comforting hand on Alan's shoulder.

_Alone in a sea of sharks,_ the physicist thought. Larry frowned at the image of Charlie sandwiched on a couch between a young lady and an overweight man whose beefy arm was slung around the mathematician's shoulders.

"Dad, he's fine," Don assured, trying to downplay what his father was seeing on the screen. "He's alive and he's conscious. Whatever else we can take care of once we've got him, okay?"

Alan nodded, looking at Don before his worried eyes were drawn back to the screen, to the recording of his youngest son at some kind of mafia cocktail party.

"Is that Margo?" Amita asked, her arms crossing as she walked closer to the flat-screen TV they were all gathered around. The woman in question was snuggled up to Charlie with one hand playing in his hair and the other resting on his lap. The serious, possessive way she gazed up at him made Amita's skin crawl.

"Hard to believe this all boils down to a lovesick student," Larry said.

"You mean a psychotic stalker." Amita felt more angry than afraid. "I can't believe she blew up a building, killed over thirty people, kidnapped Charlie_,_ and thought she could get away with it. Talk about arrogance."

"Clearly she's insane," Larry agreed, resisting the temptation to bite his nails. His fingers hovered at his lip as he watched the recording of his young friend interact with a room full of criminals.

"Well," Don said, checking his watch, "we're about to go teach her a thing or two about how the real world works."

He met his dad's eyes again.

"Be careful," Alan said.

Don gave him a brief nod.

"We'll be back soon. Both of us," he promised.

**Geared up and ready to go, Don and his team, plus other agents and officers, gathered in the LVMPD's bullpen to go over the plan a final time. **

"The focus is the thirty-first floor," Don reminded. A giant blueprint of the casino was displayed behind him. "It's the last place we've had a visual confirmation of Professor Eppes. The mole is 95% sure that's where they're keeping him. Remember, he's injured. He's wearing a white cast on his left leg. Take another look at the APB to make sure you know what he looks like should you come across him. You do _not_ want to be the one who accidentally shoots Professor _Eppes_."

Colby, Megan, and David exchanged a look. The last thing anyone needed was for Charlie to get shot because a cop or an agent confused him for one of the syndicate's members.

"Beta team's role will be to secure all entrances and exits to the building," Colby added. "The underground lot is a key point. Note this exit in particular. It's the one most heavily guarded, so you can bet it's the one the syndicate likes to use most."

"These people are dangerous. We have to assume they'll turn this into a hostage situation if they think it'll buy them time," David said. "And they've got thirty-one floors-worth of people to pick from."

"Right," Don said, "so we do this fast—but carefully."

_"Wait!"_

The cops and agents, startled, turned to the tech that was running towards the bullpen. Her face was white as a sheet.

**The Starcoast Casino, all thirty-one floors, were full of people; mostly patrons. The Sumner Syndicate prowled the highest floors. They walked around with their weapons ready. **

"Wake up, Charlie," Margo urged, pulling on his jacket.

He was drawn out of sleep by the panic in her voice. Charlie sat up groggily. He found her blue eyes excited and anxious. "What's going on?" he asked.

"We're leaving earlier than Daddy planned," she explained. Margo brushed a few messy curls away from the professor's eyes. "You can sleep in the car and at the safe house. Oh, and on the plane, too, okay? Jacob's getting the wheelchair. He'll bring your crutches with us."

Moments later Jacob smiled as he parked the chair next to the couch. "Here's your ride."

Charlie didn't smile back. They helped him move over to the wheelchair, and once his injured leg was situated, Jacob and Margo hurriedly handcuffed the professor's wrists to the armrests.

Charlie couldn't believe they even bothered. His wrists were raw from being handcuffed to chairs and bedposts. His ankle throbbed with pain despite the medication the syndicate's doctor kept handing Margo to give him. He couldn't stand on his left leg at all. Even the slightest pressure on that foot made his knees buckle from the pain.

Charlie raised his hands, letting the handcuffs clink against the metal armrests. "Is this really necessary? You know I'm in no shape to run away."

Margo knelt to strap in his legs. "Hush. It's the quickest way to move you," she said. "We're kind of in a rush."

"Why?" Charlie's suspicious gaze switched from her to Jacob, but both of them were avoiding eye contact.

"We're just getting an early start, Charlie," Margo told him. She circled around and gripped the handlebars of his wheelchair. But before pushing Charlie out into the hall, she hesitated. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck as she rested her head against his.

"I can't wait to marry you. I love you so much," Margo breathed into his ear.

"All right," Jacob said from the door. He motioned for her to hurry. "You can do all that on the road. Bring Romeo on so we can get the hell outta here. Strickland's got the van ready. Your dad and Greg are waiting for us in the lot. The Creswells have agreed to let us borrow their jet since those damn Italians got ours. Damn FBI's probably watching ours anyway."

"Daddy said we have to go to a safe house first," Margo said.

Jacob nodded. "Yeah, just for a couple of days."

"FBI?" Charlie's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. They were _evacuating!_

"The FBI knows I'm here," the professor whispered. The words were like magic.

"Yes," Margo said frostily, pushing him into the hallway and towards the elevator.

Charlie's mind was spinning with possibilities. For the first time in days he felt hope. He felt a smile trying to work its way onto his lips.

"Today is the day they're all going to burn," Margo told him with a sigh. She briskly walked up the hall, pushing Charlie. "It's too bad we can't stay to watch."

"What are you talking about?" Charlie tried to twist around to see her, but of course he could hardly move. "Margo, what are you going to do?"

Then, without needing her answer, the truth clicked. He knew exactly what she was going to do. He'd lived through the horror of it once himself already.

"Margo, you can't! This building's full of people!"

"It'll be so beautiful, so full of light," Margo said wistfully. They reached the elevator. She pressed the call button.

"Yeah, especially with the water cut off. The front desk's been gettin' shit all day about people not being able to brush their teeth," Jacob said, laughing. "They got a _real_ surprise comin'."

"But why?_"_ Charlie demanded. "Why do you always have to hurt other people? Why can't you just take what you want and _leave?"_

"We gotta shut him up," Jacob warned.

"Don't yell, Charlie," Margo said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"But this is crazy!"

Her tone was glacial. The hand on the back of his neck tightened. "Charlie, I don't like it when you raise your voice at me. This is happening because it's the only way we can escape. It's happening because your brother thought he could send a spy in here and we'd be too stupid to figure it out."

"Margo—"

"I'm not mad at you, Charlie. I know he's your brother, and that you love him. It's too bad it's come to this. He should have stayed away."

Margo's blue eyes gave Jacob a silent command.

Grinning, Jacob reached into the pocket on the back of Charlie's wheelchair. He pulled out a wide roll of duct tape, ripping a piece off. The harsh noise made Charlie flinch.

"Margo, look—_please_, you don't have to do this. Just like you didn't have to kill my students. Talk to the FBI. They'll probably let you walk right out of here if they know the only alternative is you're going to blow the whole place up," Charlie reasoned.

"Calm down, Charlie. You're going to be okay," Margo assured, her hand sliding up to play with the hair on the back of his head. "You're just going to be quiet for a while. Just a little while."

"Close your mouth. It'll hurt a lot less later if your mouth is shut when it goes on." Jacob said, dangling the wide strip of tape in front of Charlie's large brown eyes.

"Margo, let me talk to Don. Let me tell my brother I want to be with you. We have don't have to leave this w—" he closed his mouth as Jacob pasted the duct tape over the lower half of his face.

While Charlie glared at him, Jacob smoothed down the edges. He gave the professor's cheek a patronizing pat just as the elevator door pinged open.

**The video file had been emailed to the LVMPD and to the FBI. The tech brought it up on a big screen for all gathered to see, and hit play. Hearing the commotion, Alan, Larry, and Amita had joined the bullpen. The three hovered at the periphery.**

_It was a room with no furniture except for a stainless steel table with a man strapped to its surface. Several objects that looked like his fingers were scattered on the floor in small pools of blood. _

"It's Rudy Ling," Lt. Walker breathed, his eyes riveted to the recording like everyone else's. The video was not live. The clock on the wall of the bullpen read seven to twelve, but the time stamp on the video read 9:47 AM. What they were watching had occurred a few hours earlier.

_A man stood behind the table. He held a large serrated knife in his gloved hand. He grinned at the camera as he pressed it to the mole's throat._

"Who is that?" Don asked. His brow furrowed. He didn't recognize the man from all the photos he'd studied of the Sumner syndicate.

"We don't know," the tech admitted.

"_Good morning, Agent Eppes," drawled a friendly voice._

Don straightened. He knew that voice from having listened to it during the cocktail party. It was Carlisle Sumner.

Everyone in the room was stone still. If the syndicate had Rudy, if they knew Don and the FBI was in town, then that meant everything was compromised. Charlie could already be dead—executed right along with the poor bastard on the screen.

"He was trying to find out where Charlie was," Lt. Walker said, shaking his head. "He wanted to narrow it down for you guys as much as possible. They must've caught him."

"_I must admit you came close, Agent Eppes. Your man here slipped at the finish line. Out of respect for your efforts I'm sending you this message," Carlisle said, remaining off camera. "I hope your clock doesn't read 12:15. If it does, then you're already too late."_

_A signal must have been given, because the man standing behind the table nodded. He sawed his knife back and forth across Rudy Ling's throat. The mole's cry was strangled and terrible. Blood spurted. When the deed was done, Rudy's murderer triumphantly snatched the mole's head by the hair and held it in the air. Strings of blood and gore dangled from the slack-jawed face._

"_Don't worry, Agent. I'm not going to kill Charlie. As a matter of fact, we've grown rather attached to your brother. He's a good son," Carlisle's voice continued._

"He's _my_ son!" Alan growled at the screen.

Don glanced at his dad. Larry and Amita both held his arms, as if the older man needed anchoring.

"_12:15, Eppes. You couldn't save those college kids, but I'm giving you a shot to snatch 4,000 back from the jaws of Fate."_

_There was gunfire, and the man who'd killed Rudy Ling stumbled backwards, dead before he'd even hit the ground. _

**The tape ended. The bullpen stared at the blank screen in stunned silence. **

**Then every eye looked to Don.**

"They know we've got them surrounded so they're going to use the chaos of thousands of people being evacuated from the Starcoast to dodge us," Don said, irritated that they were a step behind the syndicate again. He looked out over the bullpen. "Let's assume he's not bluffing, people. Let's get everyone out of that casino. We need emergency services. Look, everyone's on this. Get those people _out._ But keep an eye out for known suspects. Let's keep the cameras rolling on those exits and entrances, all right?"

The bullpen erupted into activity as people rushed to carry out Don's orders.

"We have to consider more than the Starcoast," Megan said. "Don, we've got to consider the damage this could cause to every building around. I don't think this is a bluff either. They're going to blow up casino and create another mess for us to clean up just like they did with CalSci," she said, unable to keep her own anger out of her tone.

"Didn't the mole say they're trying to get to Europe?" David asked.

"Yeah, Carlisle Sumner's got family connections in France," Lt. Walker said. "But you can bet their gonna lay low once they get out of that casino. I say we stick to the plan. Hit 'em hard. These are the kind of people you can't hesitate around. You can't let them call the shots. You've got to act or they'll find a way to slip right through your fingers."

"And if they somehow get Charlie out of the country…" Colby shook his head.

"Guys, I think our best shot is to _let_ them escape," Megan said. "I keep thinking of... what does Charlie call it… _Game Theory?_ Let them win this round while we work on winning the next one."

"What, you think Amita and Larry can help us out? Use what info we got and predict where they're going?" Don asked, interested.

"That's probably what the Wiz Kid would try to do," Colby said, a small smile touching his lips.

Don checked his watch. He looked over the almost emptied bullpen. Every resource was being directed towards the salvation of 4,000 plus people who were _potentially_ not even half an hour from being blown sky high.

"All right," Don said. "Let's do it. Let's get started on Round 2."

**At 12:15 the Starcoast Casino imploded. **

There were multiple blasts, the first occurring at the bottom of the building, and the last from the top.

Groaning and shuddering, the beautiful, 4, 613 room structure collapsed in on itself in a deafening roar of shattered steel and glass. Smoke billowed upwards for miles. It filled the empty streets like a monstrous wave. A sea of emergency and law enforcement vehicles crowded at the perimeters of the destruction. The media was present, too, their helicopters surveying the devastated building from above.

**Forty-two hours later, armed with Larry and Amita's prediction, Lt. Walker's list of known Creswell safe houses, and a visual confirmation, Don, his team, and their backup closed in on the two-story suburban house where his brother was being held while the Sumner Syndicate waited for a chance to slip out of the country.**

The Sumners stood in the safe house's living room and considered their options. The call had come too late from their allies. The FBI was literally on their front lawn.

"Boss we've got callers," Jacob said, peering through the living room curtains of the safe house. He couldn't believe his eyes. The Feds had caught up to them. "Damn. All this fuss over one little math freak. Maybe we should hand the kid over?"

"No!" Margo cried. She looked at her father. "Daddy, we can't!"

"Go on ahead, we'll take care of it," Carlisle promised her. He kissed his daughter on the forehead. Standing there in her pink nightgown, he swore she looked like a little girl again. "Get upstairs with Charlie."

Margo hugged her father and nodded against his suit. "I love you, Daddy."

"It's gonna be all right," he told her grimly, reaching for an assault rifle. "Now get up there."

**Margo ran up the stairs and found Charlie handcuffed to the bed. She quickly undid the restraint, handed him his crutches, and told him to get in the closet. **

"Wait for me here," she ordered. "If you come out, I'll kill your brother."

Charlie's eyes widened. _"My brother—!?"_

She slapped a palm over his mouth. Her gaze was deadly serious. "I mean it, Charlie. _Stay._ Or he dies."

Charlie looked at her like she was crazy and tried to push past her, but Margo aimed a low kick right at his broken ankle. The pain made him see white. It exploded up his leg like a geyser of fire. Screaming, Charlie collapsed in pain, curling over his leg.

Margo slammed the closet door shut. "Stay in there, Charlie!"

**Don and his team crept into the house as SWAT entered from the back. The entire structure was surrounded by law enforcement.**

They crossed into the empty living room. The lights had been turned off.

A bullet whizzed past Colby's head and all of the agents ducked for cover, scattering to different points of the room. The sound of gunfire filled the living room as the FBI traded bullets with the syndicate. Holes were ripped into the walls and furniture was blown apart.

**Don worked his way through the chaos. His determined eyes were on the stairs. The battle around him barely reached his senses. Everything in him was screaming for him to get to the second floor.**

Colby took a chance, diving from his hiding place behind a recliner to where David was crouched behind an overturned bookshelf. Together, they stood and fired, shooting the suspect identified as Jacob Minor twice in the chest. The obese man cried out and fell backwards.

SWAT took out several other enforcers.

**Unwilling to wait another second, Don ran for the stairs. He knew in his gut that Charlie was within his grasp. He knew his team could handle the situation below. He outran the gunfire that followed him up the steps.**

Megan edged along a wall. She'd seen two suspects flee into the kitchen. She motioned for David and Colby to follow her lead. She kicked open the door and jumped back as a torrent of bullets greeted the agent. When there was a break in the fire, Megan ducked into the room and returned fire, shooting the man identified as Greg Sumner four times.

She was so close that his body jumped with each shot.

As he crumpled to the ground, Carlisle Sumner dropped his gun and caught the younger man in his arms. He knelt on the tiled floor and held his dying son. He felt the life bleed out from his boy.

The three agents surrounded Carlisle and Greg's body in a triangle; their guns were all aimed at the syndicate leader's head.

Carlisle looked up at them. The bewildered glaze in his green eyes hardened into a murderous glare, but he did not reach for his assault rifle. He gently laid his son on the floor. His gaze remained locked with Megan's. He lifted his hands with an air of sarcastic defeat.

"Aren't you going to arrest me, Agent?" he drawled through gritted teeth.

"Yeah," Megan said, not at all intimidated. She slid her gun into its holster and yanked out her handcuffs. "I'm going to arrest you, and the state of California's going to _execute_ you."

**Don held his gun out and slowed to a prowl, creeping up the hallway of the second floor towards an opened door. **

He heard movement, but spun around just in time for Margo to bash him in the head with something blunt and wooden. Don's world flipped over. He was on the ground. He'd lost his gun. Margo was pummeling his stomach with her fists. She was cursing and screaming at him. Don's brain crashed and she stepped off of him. He was winded and disoriented. Margo smiled. She lifted her foot over the agent's neck.

"No!" Charlie abandoned his crutches and ran, charging out of the opened bedroom. He blocked out the grinding pain in his ankle bones. He dove into Margo and knocked her away from Don.

Both of them tumbled to the carpet, but Margo was the first to get back up. Margo drove the tip of her shoe down against Charlie's cast, right over his broken ankle. The professor screamed and tried to scramble away from her, but Margo followed. There was a horrible, furious expression on her pretty face. She caught up to him and stepped on his leg again. Charlie thrashed against the floor. His good leg caught her and Margo was sent toppling backwards with a cry.

Panting, Charlie struggled onto his feet. The pain was hideous. He tried to balance on his right foot, and did a painful, limping run away from her and back into the opened bedroom.

Margo sat up. Her blue eyes were shocked. The rage had left her body.

"Charlie!" she cried. "Wait! You don't understand!"

The professor's knees buckled and he collapsed in the middle of the bedroom. Tears streamed down his face. He'd never been in so much pain. He tried to crawl, but Margo caught up to him again. She knelt beside him and pushed Charlie onto his back. Her face was no longer angry.

"Charlie," she said, her voice broken with emotion. "Listen to me! I love you so much. I just want us to be together. For you to be _safe._ I never, never, never wanted you to be hurt like this. I'm so sorry I hurt you just now. I-I was mad. I can't let him have you back, Charlie! Don't you understand?"

Charlie glared up at her, his chest heaving. "I hate you. Every last one of you."

She shook her head, not believing him, and tearfully crushed her mouth against his. She kissed him even as he twisted his face away. Charlie squeezed his eyes shut, gasping at how much his body hurt.

**Margo woodenly stood up. She crossed to the room's door and pulled it closed. After locking it, she pushed a dresser in front of the door to further block any entry. On the other side of the door she heard voices, people crying out in concern for Charlie's brother. **

**Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Charlie was trying to get up again. **

**Sighing, Margo knelt beside her acquired professor and rammed her palm against his ankle.**

Charlie's agonized screams hurt her ears and tore at her heart, but Margo did it again until he stopped moving. With shaking hands, she brushed the tears from his face.

"Don't fight me, Charlie. _Please_ stop making me hurt you. We have to hurry." She grabbed him by the jacket, and with all her strength, dragged the professor over to the room's only closet. She tucked Charlie inside.

Breathing hard, his pain-glazed eyes beseeched her. "Margo, please—just let me go. This doesn't have to happen! I have a father and a brother—"

"You have _me_," she insisted. "And I'm not letting them take you away."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a lighter.

Charlie's eyes widened. "No!"

He scrambled to get up, but the pain was so excruciating he crumpled back into the closet. His vision blurred and he saw flashes of black. Terrified of passing out and burning alive, the professor tried to block out the pain and _move. _He couldn't die now. Not with Don right outside. What would that do to Don? Knowing they'd come so close…

**Margo held the lighter to the room's lacy curtains. The beautiful fire danced up the soft fabric and made her face glow in its flickering orange light. Relieved by the fire's presence, Margo quickly returned to the closet and shut herself inside with Charlie.**

He was almost to his feet; both palms flat against the walls to give balance as the mathematician put all of his weight onto his right foot.

Margo pushed him back to the floor. She followed him down, throwing her arms around his middle and burying her face against his stomach. Outside the closet both of them could hear the crackling, sizzling of the fire as it spread. The smoke soon stung their eyes and made their throats itch.

Charlie's strength, or the adrenaline that had fueled it, ebbed away as he fought to break free of her embrace. His efforts became so weak that Margo was able to sit up and pull Charlie into her lap. She held him in her arms and kissed him several times before pressing his curly head to her chest.

She held him tight, her body rocking gently as sweat poured down her face. The heat was suffocating.

"Shh, Charlie. Don't be scared. I'm here. I'm here and I love you so, so much. I love you and I'll never leave you."

**When Don came around, it was to the smell of smoke and burning wood. He sat up and nearly knocked Megan over. She'd been leaning over him, trying to assess his injuries. Colby and David were busy breaking into a room that was only feet away from where Don finally grabbed hold of his senses.**

"Charlie!" Don was up in a heartbeat, stumbling forward and ignoring Megan's cry of concern.

"She's set the place on fire!" David yelled as the door at last gave way. The team spilled into the bedroom. Flames were spreading across the right side. Fire was on the walls and licking the furniture, creeping its way across the floor and rolling over the ceiling. Smoke and small flecks of hot ash collided with the coughing agents.

"Charlie!" They yelled, all looking wildly around the room. The walls were blackened and chunks of plaster were crumbling, falling to the floor.

"The closet!" Colby saw the closed door through the smoke. The agents rushed, weaving past the rapidly growing fire, and yanked open the closet door.

There they found Margo Sumner. She leaned over Charlie and glowered up at them. Madness danced in her blue eyes.

"No! Go away! Leave us alone!"

Don reached into the closet and ripped the woman away from his little brother. He almost threw her straight into the fire, but David and Colby caught Margo. She struggled like a wild animal between them. Fingers clawing at their arms, she screamed and kicked as they dragged her from the room.

"Charlie! _Get Charlie!"_ she shrieked as they threw her against the wall and wrestled handcuffs onto the flailing woman.

**Charlie wasn't moving.**

Don crouched down and gathered his little brother into his arms. Coughing on the smoke, he tried to plot out a safe exit path, but his eyes were irritated. Tears rolled down the agent's face.

"Don!" he heard Megan shout from the hallway.

He saw a flashlight's beam waving around and Don hurried towards it, carrying Charlie. In the hallway, Don laid Charlie on the floor and checked for a pulse. It wasn't necessary. Right away, Charlie was pushing at his hands, trying to fend Don off.

David dashed past them armed with a fire extinguisher.

"Don, we're gonna have to move," Megan said.

"Let me go!" Margo was screaming. Her voice was shrill and desperate as Colby and Megan forced her up the hall. "He needs me!_ Don't you idiots understand that he can't live without me!?"_

Charlie shoved at Don's hands. His face was drawn in pain and distress.

"Buddy, hey, it's all right. You're safe. It's _me_," Don assured, catching Charlie by the wrists. "Charlie—Charlie, look at me."

The professor opened his eyes. They were red and irritated from the smoke. They were arrested by the sight of Don kneeling over him.

Don smiled, letting go of his brother's wrists. "It's all right now. I've got you, Charlie. She can't mess with you anymore."

Charlie knew without a doubt that if Don was there, then everything was fine. He tried to sit up, and Don helped him. Shutting out the hideous pain in his leg, Charlie wrapped his arms around Don and clung to his older brother, pressing his face against him. Don's arms formed a barrier around him and Charlie shuddered in relief. All of the stress and fear he'd felt over the past week overwhelmed him.

"You came," Charlie said. "I knew you'd come."

Don laughed. "Of course I came. Charlie, I'd have chased them to the ends of the earth. Now come on. Let's get out of here. I think David's losing his battle with the fire. This place isn't safe."

"Yeah, I'm throwing up the white flag," David said, coming over to them.

"Hey Charlie. You can't begin to comprehend even with that big brain of yours how good it is to see you, man," David said with a grin. Don helped Charlie stand and the mathematician was enveloped in a quick hug from Sinclair. "Welcome back, Charlie."

Charlie grinned. "Thanks. It's _really_ good to see you, too."

Together, the agents half-walked, half-carried him out of the burning house.

**As paramedics rolled him towards the back of an ambulance, Charlie tried not to struggle against the stretcher's restraints. **

"Charlie, I'm gonna call Dad. Him and Amita and Larry, and well, _everybody_ are gonna head to the hospital," Don said, keeping up with the stretcher as it was loaded into the back of the ambulance.

"…Don, did you catch them? Did you catch _all_ of them?"

Don grinned, bracing himself as the ambulance began to move. The siren wailed to life. "Yeah, Buddy. We got 'em. Between tonight and the other day when they blew up that casino, the jailhouse is gonna be like a Sumner-Creswell reunion," Don said, laughing a little.

"Is Dad okay? …I mean, has he _been_ okay?"

Don nodded, pulling out his cellphone. "Yeah, but look—I need you to stop talking, okay? You're killing your throat, Chuck. Just rest. Let the pain killers kick in and stop worrying about everything, all right?"

Charlie swallowed, smiling again as he tried to hold his emotions in check.

But he couldn't take his eyes off of Don.

He was so proud, so deliriously happy to be with his brother, to_ have _Don as a brother.

Don couldn't shake the feeling that everything he loved in his life was more fragile than he'd ever slowed down to realize. He felt overwhelmed with gratitude that Charlie was alive and safe.

It felt like a gift.

Don smiled, a strange rush of peacefulness filling him as he dialed Alan's cellphone number.

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**Special thanks to Ghanaperu and MsGrahamCracker for your consistent reviews. **Thank you** everyone** who has taken the time to read. I haven't written the epilogue yet, so if there's something you especially would like to see in there, please let me know. Again, thank you, thank you, **thank you** for reading my first fanfiction. If there are any errors or weird sentences in this chapter, I promise to go back and fix them sometime soon. =)

The epilogue should be posted sometime soon, too. I think it's time to really wrap this story up!


	11. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Numb3rs.

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UFO

Creepy

Ratio

Underfoot

Parasite

**Consider Yourself Adopted – Epilogue**

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"I don't have any bones to pick with Charlie," Carlisle said, leaning back in the chair. The cold interrogation room was paradise compared to the shithole Carlisle had spent his last month imprisoned in. "I told you—he's a good son. He did everything I asked."

"I'm not here to talk about Charlie," Don replied. He tossed a report on the table. It slid to a stop before Carlisle. "I'm here to find out where the money you stole went."

Carlisle gave him a green-eyed grin. "You mean the cash _Charlie _stole."

Don didn't take the bait. "You're looking at some serious charges. Over thirty counts of homicide, two counts of domestic terrorism, first degree kidnapping, top that off with drug and human trafficking, not to mention a slew of other crimes you've been linked to. Cooperating now can only help you."

"Let me guess, all my accounts read zero. The money's gone, Agent. Surely Charlie mentioned the family having some debts to pay? Well, thanks to him, we're square. You won't find any leftover cash. The fact that you're in here askin' me about it tells me it's safe and waiting for me," Carlisle assured.

"You're delusional if you think you've got a chance in hell of being on the outside again," Don said, letting his irritation at the man's smug attitude slip through. "You're going down for life. Odds are, you're on a fast ride to death row."

Carlisle leaned forward, his elbows on the table and his large, calloused hands clasped together. He gazed up at Don through his square-cut glasses. "Let me try to explain to you the way I see our situation, Agent."

Don scoffed. Was this guy for serious?

"You've taken_ nothing_ from me that isn't replaceable," Carlisle began, his tone venomous, his eyes hardening.

"Oh yeah?" Don couldn't help himself. "Your own son died because you refused to surrender. You calling your son _nothing_?"

"When you live by the sword you eventually die from it. Greg knew that—He gave his _life _for me," Carlisle shot back, a fist hammering down on the table. "What greater expression of love and loyalty can a son give his father? He was a good kid."

"You know usually it's the other way around," Don said with a particularly mean edge. "I mean what kind of father stands by and just lets his kid take the bullet for him?"

"You're breakin' my heart, _Don_," Carlisle said, dismissive. "Look, it's a fact that you can't—and won't—find my money. I can tell by our little conversation here that it's outta your reach. Here's another fact—you won't be able to keep me in prison. Just watch. I'm gonna catch a deal and walk. My daughter's gonna walk. And then the family'll disappear just like _all that money._"

"Why don't you do me a favor?" Carlisle asked. "You tell Charlie to sit tight. We won't forget him. I don't ever forget family. Tell him to be lookin' over his shoulder—cause I promise you, if I can't be there yet to pick him up personally, I know plenty of other people who can. Tell him to be practicin' his French."

Don ripped the table out of the way. He wanted to kill the man, but Colby and David spilled into the room and held him back. He knew it was the wrong move. It was stupid to show Carlisle how much threatening to take Charlie away again got under his skin, but Don couldn't help it. Everything in him wanted to beat the syndicate leader into the wall.

"He's one of mine, Eppes," Carlisle said, laughing as the agent got it together and walked out of the room. _"Give him my regards, Don!"_

**The sky was a dark steel gray when Don pulled into the driveway of his brother's house. It was breezy outside. The trees rustled.**

The surgery on his brother's ankle had gone great. As far as Don knew, there were screws or wires or something holding the pieces together so they could heal properly. Charlie was still on crutches, and would probably be stuck with them for another month, possibly two.

He found Charlie and Amita in the living room, watching a journalist's exclusive interview of Margo Sumner. They were so engrossed in the TV that neither Charlie nor Amita seemed to hear Don close the door. The agent hung back, watching and listening to the TV with them as Margo spoke.

"_Charlie and I have a special connection," _the recording of Margo Sumner said to the journalist interviewing her. Margo was dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit. _"No one understands him the way I do. He's going to visit me in jail. He's my soul mate. We have a bond that even distance won't be able to break, you'll see. I bet you he'll watch this. Charlie, if you're watching, I love you!"_

Amita glanced at Charlie and saw his eyes widen fractionally. She tugged on his arm. "Come on. Let's help your dad set the table."

(Don slipped into the kitchen.)

"I wish they'd stop showing pictures of me," Charlie grumbled, eyes still on the screen. "And now she's telling everyone _everything._ It's embarrassing…"

"Is this the same journalist who asked you for an interview?" Amita asked.

"Yeah. Well actually she called Dad since I've changed my number. Get this—she wanted my _side_ of the story," Charlie said, shaking his curly head. "Of course Dad told her no thanks, but we didn't think about the pictures. Those are from articles, faculty photos… It's all public domain."

Amita flipped the TV off. "Well, the bad news is the whole world knows your business."

She set the remote aside and turned to Charlie.

Her smile and the confidence in her eyes made him feel better. Her brown eyes were so striking, not just for the spark of intelligence they carried, but also because Amita had the most sincere, caring eyes that Charlie had ever seen. To him, she was the most beautiful woman on earth.

"The good news is you don't have to listen to her anymore. Charlie, she can't force you to pay attention, no matter how much she gets on TV," Amita said logically. "The truth is she's in prison and you're here with me."

"I like being with you," Charlie replied, and she thought his smile was a little goofy, but cute. He met her eyes before leaning in to share a kiss. Amita smiled against his lips. Her smile grew as he pulled her into his arms.

Amita put her arms around his waist. Drawing back a little, she caught his gaze again, and softly asked, "Promise me that you won't let her get inside your head?"

Charlie ran his hand tenderly through Amita's hair and smiled again. "I promise."

**The aroma of dinner brought everyone together. The table was set. The food was placed, and the Eppes plus Amita took their seats and their forks. **

"So I'm thinking about working out in the morning. Want to come, Chuck?" Don asked. "You gotta be going crazy hanging around the house like this. You can put some muscle on those sticks you call arms."

Charlie snorted, munching his steak. "Hey I'm not the one who let some psychotic 120lb girl beat me up," he pointed out, recalling how he'd found Don seconds from having his windpipe crushed under Margo's foot. "I was there. She had you on the _ground_, Bro."

Don laughed. "Well I guess it's a good thing you came charging up the hall. You must've hit that girl like a train. That's probably why you've got all those screws in your foot."

Charlie nodded. "It definitely hurt."

"You ran with a broken ankle?" Alan asked. "Well no wonder your bones looked like a shattered mirror on the x-ray. And what's this about you being on the ground, Don? I haven't heard this part before."

"Quantico must not train for taking out small, unarmed women," Charlie replied, grinning at his brother.

Don scoffed. "That's right, Charlie, keep it up. For your information she was armed, but you keep it up and I'm telling Dad about that little showdown you had with a pit bull last spring."

"The what?" Alan imagined a vicious dog attacking his youngest son. He zeroed in on Charlie. "What were you doing? You're not supposed to go out on the field with Don. Were you hurt?"

Charlie paused in his munching, looking from Alan to Don. He pointed his fork towards his older brother. "That's nothing, Dad. During the same case Don jumped across two rooftops. If he had fallen, there's a sixty-five percent likelihood his body would have plummeted at forty-four feet per second. He'd be human goulash."

"Those roofs were barely a foot apart. _Wait a sec,_ you're trying to distract Dad," Don accused. The agent shared a look with Amita, who was smiling and cutting her fish. "He used to do this all the time when we were kids."

Don popped one of his little crispy red potatoes into his mouth and gave his dad an exasperated face. "Don't tell me you still fall for it."

"_Distracting, _possibly," Alan conceded, waving his own fork around as he spoke. "What I'm curious about is if he's _lying_. Don, you could have gotten yourself killed! How could you do something so reckless? I mean did you even consider using the staircase? I know it's not as macho as leaping across rooftops, but it doesn't take a genius to know it's smarter."

Charlie smirked and shoveled another forkful of steak into his mouth. Then a thought occurred to him, and he looked to his brother. "Hey, Don, how is that 'Eastside Eyesnatcher' case going? I just realized I never asked if you guys caught the guy."

"Not good," Don admitted. "Megan thinks the guy might've moved on to a new area, but it's possible he's just in a cooling period, too. He could be inactive for weeks, months, even years. He stopped after victim twenty-four a couple of weeks ago."

"Well I could look at it for you," Charlie offered, reaching for his wine glass. "I'm off this semester at CalSci anyway except for special lectures, and besides, if there are twenty-four victims then that means there've been nine more since I last had a chance to look at the map."

"If a pattern's emerged, then I might be able to help you find where your killer is, or where he'll strike next," Charlie said. He glanced at Amita and she nodded, supportive.

"Yeah Charlie, that'd be great." Don was nodding, too. "You know, I think I still have some of the case files out in my car..."

"How about you two finish supper first, hm?" Alan suggested, sawing at his steak. He glanced up and noticed his sons were eating a little faster, getting through the meal so they could get to the case. Alan smiled privately. Getting to work would be a good step into the future for both of his boys.

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**The end. Thanks for reading!**


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